Lowell High School - Lowellian Yearbook (Lowell, IN)

Page 25 text:

iiiiii iiiiUiiiw iiiimmuiiiimiiiiii!i:Mii»iiiuiu.iiiiiiiiiiiii(nii iitiiiui:iiiiiiiiii;iiii iiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiii!iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii}iiiiiiiiiHiiH;iiiiiii«iiiiiiii(iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiui!iiiitiiliiill! x.atumian iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuii:niiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiii!iiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!:iiiiiiiuiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiuii iiHii!iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiui!i!!i!iiiiiiiiiii(jii.iiliiiililiui!itiiiiiiiiiiliii;iiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiri VLi jc Eetncarnatton of Class! ’17 It seems 1 spent years sleeping, feeling in a way that the seasons were coming and going, knowing best when the warm sunshine wrapped me in a blanket of warmth, to sleep and sleep on until I should reach the stage of awakening. In a whis¬ per it came to me, “Awake, thou art the spirit of the class of nineteen-seventeen.” Vaguely, at first I understood, then I knew and remembered—the fire—the terror—then oblivion. But now, such a new and strange world and so beautiful. Just like fairyland. Beneath me I could see the great rolling clouds. I wondered at this for under my feet was a carpet of gold. I reached down to touch it and found it nothing. Just the transparent nothingness of color. I tried to feel my own hand, that too was like the carpet of gold. A nothingness of color. I tried to move, the impulse was followed strangely. Light as air I floated and in this way all things were done. Then came sound. The beauty of it was almost appalling; I floated to it. Upon a tree of gold was perched a bird. A bird of Para¬ dise. “Nellie,” I whispered, for I was scarcely able to speak, “is it you?” And indeed it was our sweet whistler, Nellie Brooks. “Listen,” she said, don’t you hear?” Too surprised to answer, 1 waited. From what seemed to be a brook ot the purest silver that laughed just for pure joy, there arose a water-nymph and with her came the laughter too. It was Della Wagin. In her un¬ usual provoking way, she turned and addressed something in the water, “No Milton McKay you cannot come out. A fish you are and must always be. ‘But see,’ Max is luckier than you; he being a mud-turtle with four legs can go almost anyw r here.” “Aren’t there any angels here?” I asked. Almost at once one came. It was Lillian Goddard. Beau¬ tiful, but for an angel she looked troubled. “Won’t you see what is hanging to my shirt,” she said. I looked and it was Verne Lloyd. “Where is Rubie Hayhurst and Lucile Brownell?” I asked. “Why don’t you know,” Lillian answered, they are fire¬ flies and Ed Minninger keeps them busy lighting his pipe.” A strange and beautiful world it was. There were ani¬ mals too, I saw one lonely goat. In sympathy I tried to touch him. “Oh, never mind,” he said, “a goat’s a goat now and always.” And I know it was Seth Little. I saw them spinning from a mist of gold, weaving joy and love, just as always—Elsie McConnell and Violet Hoevet. Then . ........iiiiiiiiii:iiiiiiii::tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiminiiiiii...mini 1917 iiiiiiiiiiuiiiii:iiiiiii:iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii; ' iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!iiiiiiiini

Page 24 text:

;]rHilll|I|IIUIIllillll|Ulllllll|imillillIllimnUI !illimirii:ilsUIII|.:i!;lJlltliallllUt4IIIIIUI]llHII«liIlUllllllllllllllllllllltlllllllllt1lillliini;ilItllllllltllUIIHIIt!llll |]| Illllll!IIIIIU lototllian jiiiiiiuuiutiiiiitiiitiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiuiiiuiiniiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiKHUiiiiiTitiiiiinitiiiiiiiiiHiiiiniiiiiiiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ' MMiiiiiiiiiiutJtii Mentor It seems like a dream, that nearly five years have come and gone since thirty-one of ns gathered together in Mars and plan¬ ned our trip to the Earth. With the aid of guides, chaperones and fast flying airships, we reached the Earth without a single mishap to hinder our progress. Anxious to obtain as much knowledge of the new land as possible during our stay, we decided to enter some Institution of Learning, and thus it was that in the fall of 1913 we dawned upon the horizon of the Lowell High School and entered as Freshmen. There for four years we have sat daily at the feet of some of the world’s best teachers, receiving knowledge. Our Freshmen and Sophomore years passed rapidly. We entered the Junior year with the inspiration of a new High School building with new equipment. We will let the class of ’16 sing the praises of the banquet which we gave them at the close of the year. Our class is proud of the honors which some of the members have received in the school contests during those three years. Our Senior year is now nearly over. One trait of our char¬ acter is especially being developed this year for we have sat with, and cared for the mischievous infants of the school who bear the name of Sophomores. (They were intrusted to us by the faculty.) Besides the development of the trait, we are grow- IMS ton? ing wiser each day and there is no doubt in our minds at least but that we have about absorbed all the wisdom from our learned faculty. It is said that at one of their meetings held in the office recently, they conceded that the “class from Mars” is the most brilliant one the Lowell High School has ever known. For our spotless record of Deportment which we leave with the school we are indebted to our early training in Mars. If at times we felt within us a desire to wander from that teaching, that desire was immediately detected by the watchful Elsie Mc¬ Connell and Violet Hoevet or Milton McKay and Verne Lloyd who kept an eye on us lest we cause any disturbance in the assembly or displease the faculty. Soon the class of ’17 will have passed away and we shall behold the Earth no more. With the thought of graduation comes the thought of our departure for Mars. We feel keenly within us the call of our native land. Ere we leave, Oh Lowell High School, One last toast we’ll give to you; It’ll be “Lowell High School forever To you we’ll always be true.” Our native land afar doth call us, But our hearts we leave with thee, And we’ll always drink to your ’17 Faculty And the times that “ust ter be.” HILDA DAHL. :!iii!iiiiimmn!!!i:i iiiiii!iiii!iiimimiiiii;uiiii!ii!iiiniii!i!iiaiintiiiiiiiiuuuiiiinaMiiniiiiiuiiHiini!iumMiiimimiii:miiimiiiiisiii .d X 7 ' . .ns. .

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iiKiiMllllllilillillllllUIIIIIIIIHiillllMIliillllllllilllMIIIIIIIIIUIIIItllllUllllllliMilllllllllllHIIIIHIIIIIIIinilNIINIIIIllllillllllllllllllllillililillllllllllllllllllMIIIHIIIIIIillllllllllllllllfllllllinill «.OQ)CUian iiiiiMiiiillllililllllllltllllllilllllllllllllllUillllllllllllllllllllllllllililllllllllllHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlMlllliMMIIIIIliUlllUIIIIIIIUMHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIUIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIIilllllltltlllllllli “Mentors! ' ’ Seniors! so dignified and yet jolly, Some are called Jim and some are called Polly. Working so hard, all honorable and true, For everyone is hoping to get thru: Once they were Freshmen so bashful and green. Their queer mistakes they hoped would pass unseen. Then they were silly Sophomores, quite too bold, Wishing all power in their big hands to hold. But when they changed from Sophs to Juniors gay, They thought that they had better change their way; And so they worked and Seniors all became, Their lives are now glorified with fame. And thru’ the future years of their great life They all will bear the honor of that strife. —DELLA WAGIN ’17 1917 IIlUllllllllllltlllllltllllliHII llllllllllHIlHIIIIlllIIlhllUHIIIIIUItl