Liberty High School - Lion Yearbook (Brentwood, CA)

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THE LIBERTY BELL dolas were moving lazily along, and the gondolier of o11e had a familiar look, As 'he turned to speak to his passengers. I saw it was Raymond Prewett. Then there was the interior of a queer looking schoolroom, filled with little black children. The teacher was tall, fair and painfully skinny, and Ruth, I know you will he pleased-it was you! The next was also a schoolroom, but was evidently in a high school. From various maps scat- tered around. and from the pained ex- pression on the faces of the pupils I gathered that it was a history class, and the teacher was Mae Pemberton. Leaving poor Mae to her fate the scene changed and I saw a surveying party composed of girls. Most of them were strangers but I recognized two, Bessie Sanders and Esther Murphy. Next was a little girl taking a music lesson. She was rather stupid, and her teacher, a man, was almost in despair. As he turned his afzonized countenance to- ward me, I was astonished to see that it was Judson Swift. As the scene changed I saw the in- it-rior of a church. A wedding procession was going slowly up the aisle. As the bride and groom reached the altar they tained and I could see their faces. I ,iciltftl my hand swiftly away from Mr. lmliymple, for the face of the woman was my own face, and the man was Mr. Dal- ifsmplel When I jerked my hand away I lost my balance and with a shriek I full into the przol. In an instant I was Oilt asain, und we were soon running for the house. Aunt met me at the door and the poor old lady nearly had a convulsion when she szlw une. She rushed me up to our rooms and put me lo bed, tht.-u it hen she knew I was helpless she made me swallow some awful mess that she had prey ared. This is two days later and I've fully recovered from my ducking. I haven't seen Mr. Dalrymple since. Moreover, I don't want to. Well, I hear Aunt calling me now so l'll say farewell. Sincerely Yours. FRANCES BROXVN. JIHQ QEYZIDIIZIHXIB 0112155 By MYRA PEARCE, '1-3. I was sitting by my fireside Thinking of the past, When there upon the coals did glide My graduating class, I saw them all as plain as day Upon those fiery coalsg I saw Elaine so fair and gay, Now the vision grows. There was Edith, face as bright As in the days of yore. Ah! My eyes beheld this sight. It made my poor heart sore. In memory came back the years, The years of long ago. II2 'I The coals did glow, the flames did burst And Richard did appear, Who in the country-side stood first For peace and justice dear. Next Judson stood before me there In happiness and wealth. He got his riches just and fair, He did not stoop to stealth. As for myself I've naught to say That is of consequence. Hut, oh! I wish that they could stay My grief to recompense When memory brings back the years, The years of long ago. I

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TIIE LIBERTY IIELI. Next was the interior of a court room. A woman lawyer was talking and Ruthie you'll never guess who this modern Portia was-it was Mary Parenti! lt rapidly faded and another took its place. This was a beautiful country home sur- rounded by a garden. Across the lawn were walking a man and a woman with a little boy running ahead ol' tbetn. The woman was Emma Shellenburger and the other two were evidently her husbattd and son. Following this cheerful picture was a scene in the interior of a hospital. On her knees beside a low. white bed was a sister of charity. As she rose I saw her face and was petrified with astonishment to see that it was Elaine Wallace! As I was wondering what had indttced her to become a nurse the picture suffered the fate of its fellows and another was there. It was an operating room. Two doctors enveloped in long white aprons stood gaz- ing intently upon a figure on the table. Suddenly the figure stirred, and the doc- tors turned toward each other with joy on their faces. As they did so I could see that they were Alvin Howard and Ver- non Cakebread. The next seemed to be a meeting of some sort. As it became clearer I seemed to know that it was a faculty meeting. Among those present I recognized Henri' Plumley, YValter Swift, Neva Sheddrick and Elizabeth Jongeneel. As each onc handed in their report. although l could not read it I seemed to know what was written. I gathered that Henry Plumlev was Professor of Natural Historv. Walter Swift of Dead Languages. Neva Shed- drick of English and Elizabeth of Ancient History. Cleopatra's pool seemed to he as fickle as that lady herself, for not even for their dignitaries did it give much time and they were ,soon gone. After them was an array of fearful and wonderful hats, so l knew it to be a millinery storc. A tall woman roso as two other women tntt-ted the shop and I saw that the first was Adrianna Jongeneel who evidently owned the shop. This was followed by a stnall, but tastefully furnished rootn in which were two young women, one of whom was writing, with piles of manu- script on the table in front of her, and the other was making a. pen and ink sketch. The first one was Esther Wristen and the second was Aileen Porter. Then I saw a laboratory in which were two men. One was standing in a corner mixinglsomething while the other stood before a window holding a bottle on which was a label with the words Freckle Lo- tion, made exclusively by Healy and Porter. Then I recognized the men- Andrew Porter and James Healy. This picture gave place to another which was a great meeting. I saw that it was the House of Representatives at Washington. in session, and the speaker was a tall. angular woman. no less a person than Blanche Juett. Next was a glare of brilliantly white snow. Everywhere was snow, and toil- ing wearily along was a dog team. and two tnen clad in furs. Their faces were almost entirely covered, hut I could see that the men were Byron Fotheringham and Henry Winfree. Then as the picture changed I could see the interior of a beauty parlor. Several exceedingly plain women were going through the painful process of becoming young and beautiful. My gaze lingered on their sufferings a while then shifted to the door where a bilge placard bore the words: Beauty Parlors. Viola Parlin and Susie Dickin- son. The next was a street. or rather n canal. in Venice. Several long. black con- llll

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