Lincoln High School - Lincolnia Yearbook (Cleveland, OH)

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THE LINCOLN LOG Page 17 Henry Monkowski appears marching down a street decorated with flags and bunting at the head of a band—second only to Sousa’s. Some altogether peculiar, weird and inexplicable fancy led Grace Tompkins to establish a curio shop in Persia where she studies obsolete languages in her spare moments. Again the scene changes—and we are in the midst of the professional circles—in a large office, mahogany furniture and all, sits a fat, prosperous looking lawyer, Lawrence Reimer, the boy who, in our High School days had not yet learned to lie. Thus does veracity bring its reward. Helen Root is the successful author of many l ooks—those lying on her shelf now are—“How to Keep a Husband,” “How Women May Dominate,” “How to Manage Men.” As I look again I can see among the society circles of that far-off time two most dazzling and brilliant figures belonging to Rita Erb and Bessie Miller. Ah, this is Paris! Since so many women have taken away men’s jobs, Frederick Hey has turned his attention to Beauty Culture. He now runs an enormous establishment in that fair city. Rose Hoffman now comes into my scope of vision, she appears as the head of a finishing school for select young ladies. George Lucak, with his grace and comlincss dances from out of the shadows. He has become famous as a member of the Ballet Russe. Bonita Witt has married an English nobleman and now lives in London. She is also serving in the House of Commons and has, as her most intimate friend, Lady Astor. Verily, how Russel has changed! I now see him as a master violinist—his iron gray hair is flowing in ripples over his shoulders and his tie is frayed and worn—his clothes are threadbare—but he seems not to be aware of it—he lives only for his art. Grace Dittman is wasting her sweetness on desert air—she is a designer of clothes for women in the tropics. The white heat of the tropics merges into a scene of snow and ice. Hazel Buhl appears in the midst of it. She is conducting a matrimonial bureau for Eskimos. A large building! Why it is a convent! A fair lady disappointed in some love affair has become a nun. Her name is lost—she is only Sister Dolores, but it seems I recognize the dimples and the sweet face of Clara Wise. It is odd under what striking circumstances some of our old friends appear. Here is Marion Ash working as a prison reformer. How her face lights up with animation as she speaks before those hard-looking grisly, hoary old crooks and gamesters. Truly. Marion, you have our best wishes for success in the work you have chosen. Here is a lady’s boudoir, silk hangings, soft cushions, a scheme of rose and white. Thelma Hobson is having her hair dressed by a maid, for she is a lady of leisure—rather inclined to settlement work, late suppers and innocent dissipations. The operating room of a hospital gradually takes shape. In it are grave old physicians bending over a still body. They look up and turn to Dr. Malucky—an eminent authority. It is rather hard to recognize him behind his Van Dyke beard and monocle. Among Dr. Malucky‘s most valued assistants is Lauretta Popp. How capable and sweet she looks in her immaculate cap and gown!

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Page 16 THE LINCOLN LOG (klass THE CRYSTAL GAZER A ISTEN, O, ye fellow students! Listen all ye here assembled to the words of love and wisdom from the lips of one who knows you—one who sees into the future, knows what lies before each dear one, feels the joy and feels the sorrow you must meet upon the way. I have spent the day in silence and in thinking hard and deeply and so prepared to read the crystal I shall now its secrets reveal, for the mist of the future is passing and the spirit of prophesy descends on me and envelops me with her mystic chains. I say unto you, it hath been given to me and to dream strange things, and to see strange visions of the days that are yet to be. As I gaze into the clear bright crystal the colors blend and melt into each other. Mists are shifting about and I discern moving about in the dim shadows the familiar faces of my classmates now changed and transformed into the citizens of a dim new world. I can see our beloved president in all his majestic bearing as the president of our nation -for his ambition ever led him upward and onward till he attained that high goal for which he sought. As I gaze—the door of a home swings open before my vision—and 1 behold a household happy and blessed by a woman who has found her greatest ambition as the maker and keeper of a home. Truly my soul rejoices as 1 recognize her to be Helen Kyle. Even as I watch, the home lights die away, and the nerve-wracking notes of a jazz orchestra come upon my ears, and here whom do 1 sec but Hortense Fer guson, waving her arms about wildly, vainly attempting to direct the orchestra. Green fields, bright ribbons of river, meadows and pastures now roll along. Here is an enormous prosperous looking farm, buildings of the most modern kind are set on it—there are machines of every type in the barn and I behold the midst of all this, Kenneth Adams. He is running the farm along strictly scientific lines. In the busy office of one of our large dailies I can sec Viola Calta sitting before a desk piled high with correspondence from love-sick individuals, silly boys and girls and from sensible business men and women. For she is conducting the Martha Lee column of the News. The picture fades and the glass reveals a sun-baked tennis court. A match is being waged for the world championship in tennis. It is not hard to recognize the long, lithe figure of our friend Clync Crawford. On an electric sign over one of the Keith’s Theatres the name of Grace Bauer appears. She has joined the Ziegfield Follies and is now one of their chief attractions. Stella Bogtisz appears amidst wealth and luxury. She is a millionaress. having started as a private secretary and won the heart of her employer. The picture passes. I sec the grand old walls of a historic cathedral in England where a stately minister in his robes of dignity pours forth words of inspiration into the ears of sinners about him—truly it is Wilbur Dicus himself! His white robes fade in the distance and there emerges from the background a number of little tables occupied by chattering youths and maidens. They have come for a sip and a bite to the tiny shop of Ruth Hugo.

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Page 18 THE LINCOLN LOG One of our number, Clinton Crevoisic, appears in the wilds of the woolly west. He is a cowboy of wonderful bravery and a typical villain of romance. From the depths of the class a tall figure approaches. Broad of shoulders and deep of chest. She speaks in deep stentorian tones. I can hardly believe that this is the once slim little Grace Ambrose. I see thru the mists, but very dimly, a caravan approaching over the dreary undulations of the desert. A figure stands out very plainly. High upon the back of a camel sits Sam Silverman. He is transporting rain coats to Egypt, where he makes great sales almost every day. What’s all this commotion in the corner of the House of Commons! It is a Sinn Fciner agitating for some issue. I look closer. Do my eyes deceive me? It is a woman. Her fiery spirit diffuses itself among her listeners. Yes, it is, as my prophetic soul, foretold me—Siby Thorpe. The pictures are gone. The colors are again blending, melting, and merging into each other. The glass is becoming clear. I am sorry the visions are over, but I am comforted wit!} the assurance that they are true. Stephanie Sentena, Jan. 20 (Class Ultll E, the Class of January, 1921, in full possession of a crammed mind, untrained memory and superhuman understanding, and about to pass out of this sphere of education do hereby make and publish this, our last will and testament: First, we direct that our final obsequies be conducted by our friends, classmates and especially by the evcr-competent faculty who have guarded us so long, asking only as a last wish of the dying that the funeral be carried out with due dignity, pomp, and ceremony which ought to be accorded to us. Item 1. We give and bequeath to the dear faculty who have been our instructors in the wisdom of the ages, sweet dreams and restful nights. They need no longer lie awake and wonder whether this one or that has done her home work. They need no longer give up their week-ends to marking for they have discharged their work dutifully and well. Item 2. To our faculty we also leave all the amazing knowledge and startling information that we have furnished them from time to time in our test papers. We hope that they will feel at liberty to use all such bits of wisdom and enlightenment for the education of future classes as well as for their own benefit. That, of course, is left to their personal discretion. Item 3. To Miss Van Fleet, our home room teacher, we give our profound admiration and enduring friendship. Item 4. We give and bequeath to all our successors our wonderful class and school spirit. We hope they will become so thoroughly steeped in it that the school will never suffer for the lack of it. Item 5. We also give and bequeath to our successors in the 12B Class as a whole, Wilbur Dicus’s finished art of bluffing. Item 6. To the 12B girls, we give the example of the girls of the Class of '21—their modest looks and their grave and reverend mien.