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

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$Jn«r 22 STl?r ifltmtr Class |3rnplicn) How long 1 had been an inmate of the Eastern Oregon State Hos- pital I could not distinctly remember. But now, having eluded all the guards but one—Audmer Playle, who was still on my trail-—with a whit- ened beard and faltering step 1 was trudging my way over the Blue Mountains. My only ambition—to reach La Grande. As 1 neared Meacham I came upon a solitary sheepherder with a flowing beard and an old fashioned Kentucky rifle over his shoulder. I looked again. It was Harve Carter. He did not recognize me, so I trudged slowly on. To the right of me towered a high sign board covered with the fol- lowing: MOTHER POSTON’S BREAKFAST FOOD MAKES THE CHILDREN GROW and underneath it: WALLSINGER’S COLORED MINSTRELS AT LA GRANDE, ORE.—JULY 29, 1948 1948!! 1 looked again, but figures don’t lie. A few miles further on 1 met a stranger who told me of the many strange things that had happened in twenty years, among them the fol- lowing: That the suffragettes, under the leadership of Thelma Nixon, were still clamoring for the vote; that Warren J. Thompson’s Marine Band, composed of piccolos and bass drums, was on its third tour around the world; that Earl Blokland had been nominated for the presidency in the newly formed republic of Borneo; and that Joy Weagle had nobly devoted her life trying to bring the saloons back, for she had at last recognized their true worth to society. As I neared Adams Avenue new and strange sights greeted my eyes. A trolley car thundered by and with difficulty I recognized the motorman as Georgia Wade. Across from the postoffice was a giant sky-scraper and on a window I saw the name of H. Ball, Architect. Next to this was a small shack which I afterwards learned was occupied by the firm of Ash and Turshinsky—Pawnbrokers. Slowly the darkness came on and La Grande’s Great White Way was ablaze with lights. Down on Silverthorn’s corner the Salvation Army was holding sway. And as I elbowed my way through the crowd Captain L. Chandler was calling the sinners forward—the meek little woman tak- ing up the collection? Why, it was Ruth Selder. On the opposite corner, in front of Ledbetter’s Undertaking Parlors, a representative of Painless Parker was pulling teeth for the gullible pub- lic. I looked again. Somewhere 1 had seen that smile before. Yes, it was the same old Frank Young who used to kid the girls at L. H. S. in 1919. Over all this clamor rose the voice of a soap box orator. Distinctly

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Cl?r iHimir JJngr 21 Vada Briggs wills some of her superfluous weight to Gladys Currey. Elwood Lyman bequeathes about a foot of his height to Waldo Stoddard. Helen Owsley wills some of her “peroxide” to Florence Lynch. Charles Ash wills his “past career” to Bud Newlin. Howard Ball leaves his troubles and grey hairs to the next Senior Play manager. Helen Sims wills part of her collection of “overseas” pictures to Jeannette Stoddard. jenny Kimmel wills her soldier boy to some deserving Sophomore or Junior. And lastly: We, the Seniors of 1919, will this last Will and Testament to the various recipients and to their heirs forever. (Seals) Signed

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iTUntir Jngr 23 ] heard the words—“One by one the women have taken the men’s rights away from them, first it- - - - - and as distinctly did I remember the Mike Carroll of my school days and his famous anti-woman suffrage speech. In the hope of finding lodging for the night, for I was broke, I took to the alleys. The back doors of the Star Theatre) were open and glancing in upon the stage I recognized, among the bustle and frenzied workers, Helen Sims, scenery shifter and stage hand. I had always thought her ambition was to be on the stage. Walking into the Merchant’s Restaurant, where it was at least warm. I picked up the La Grande Evening Observer—An Independent Newspaper— Edited by Florence Thompson. The first thing that caught my eye was— “Portland, Sept. 13, ‘Jack the Dip’ Celebrated Society Crook, Taken at Last. Captured by Police Officer Owsley. Had Baffled Police for Years. Real Name Was Orville Wright.” And underneath it, this: “The trial of Mose Lyman, the Morgan Lake Hermit, was begun today. He is arranged on two charges—bootlegging and counterfeiting. Mr. Lyman is a very peculiar and eccentric man, living alone for many years he 1ms had nothing to do with the society of women.” Opening the paper to the column of “Hints for the Love-Sick Ques- tions answered by Vada Briggs,” greeted my eyes. On the opposite page was an ad. for the Sunny View Poultry Farm—Johnson, Van Housen and Schafer, Proprietors. At this moment I was interrupted by an enameled faced hasher who was vainly struggling with a man-sized cud of gum. “Whatcher havin’ pard?” came a voice, a la masculine. I looked up - - - - ! - - - ! Ardis Palmer! I fled into the night. I was now thoroughly convinced that this was all a dream and I determined to ask the first passerby concerning the day and year. The streets, however, were dark and deserted. Towards morning a milk wagon clattered by and through the mists 1 was barely able to distinguish the words—THE LONE PINE DAIRY, Carolyn Palmer, Prop.—on its side. When the driver jumped nimbly out I hailed her. It was Lee Ellis. She did not recognize me. When I inquired of her the day and year and other questions she not only confirmed what I had heard and seen, but also told me that Dr. Casey was practicing in an Eastern Oregon town and that Lorna Coolidge and Edith Bragg were living peacefully at Tuttle’s Home for Brokenhearted Spinsters. Mt. Emily, she informed me, was now a famous summer resort and Anna Arnoldus and Jennie Kimmel were employed there as guides. Also that Zilpha Allen was comfortably married to a Canadian farmer. Finally I asked her what had become of myself. “Aw, he went crazy from overstudying in his senior year way back in 1920. Guess lie’s over at Pendleton now or he may be dead for all I know.” I knew it was no dream. Theodore George