Lowell High School - Lowellian Yearbook (Lowell, IN)

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THE LOWELLIAN L. H. S. at Sarah, for instance. According to all existing signs and dope, Sarah was scheduled to become Mrs. Love, but instead, about two months before the wed¬ ding, she ran off with Malcolm and they are now living in Buffalo, where he is in the real estate business. Poor Perk, when he heard of the elopement, was heart-broken and went off west some place. Leslie, who is sales manager of a big clothing house, went out in Oregon three years ago on his vacation and while there he met Perk, who was then working as cook in a lumber camp.” “Kimmet is working with the other branch of this show now. He’s the giant since the old giant, Fabian Henry, croaked.” “Paul Berg is living a life of ease, as be invented some new kind of self- operating mustache comb, and lias become very wealthy.” “Neil married some country girl—I forget her name—and is now employed as professional bouncer by Fondelette, who is running a pool room.” “Sylvia Rudolph and Helen Vinnedge are managing a select school for young ladies in New Jersey, and Eudora is teaching Economics at Northwestern.” “Hurrah for Eudora!” I exclaimed. “I always knew she was cut out for a teacher, she was so crabby and sharp. But where is Elliott?” “Oh, he’s our senator now. He defeated Schuyler, who ran on the Socialist ticket, in the last election, by only sixty-seven votes, and there was quite a bit of talk about bribery and corruption. However, they couldn’t prove anything, so Bell is now in Washington. Schuyler is now in Arizona, at some sanitarium.” “Chicken Little married Aline, and is now on the farm. He copped second prize on his seed corn last year at the International, while Archie Childress, who is also farming, got third on one of his Holsteins.” “Louise Miller has married Milford at last. She had quite a job landing him, I guess, and they are now down in Louisville. “Ruth Taylor and Ruby Rudolph bought Queene out, and are operating a thriving business.” “But what about Sherard Henry?” I asked; “he didn’t fall for that Iddings girl, did he?” “Gee, no; he’s no fool. He is a bachelor and is now mayor of Lowell. He is said to be paying quite a bit of attention to Marguerite Bowman, but I don’t believe half I hear.” “Why, Marguerite married Cop, didn’t she?” Nothing stirring. She thought she would become an opera singer, and when she found out she couldn’t make the stage, Cop wouldn’t have her, so she’s now an old maid.” “Manford, after his sensational .divorce case, went to Europe, and he has not yet returned; while Nelda, who never married, is now in Samoa. I hear she is a missionary.” Pape twenty-four

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1 9 2 3 T H E L O W ELLIAN SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY It was circus day. And as circus day is a rare day in the wheat belt of South Dakota, I decided to go, even though I was a bachelor, and rather old at that. 1 arrived early, and having to wait some time before the performance was to begin, 1 wandered about among the side-shows and refreshment stands, look¬ ing at the crowds and talking with acquaintances. At last I found myself in front of the Wild Man’s tent. At short intervals deep groans and sullen roars could be heard issuing from the tent, and at last, drawn by curiosity, I entered. There, squatting in the center of a steel cage, was the wild man. He was clothed in fur, his face was covered with his hair, which was long and coarse, and hung down over his eyes in a ferocious manner, and his feet and hands were large and rough. As I walked up to him he wiggled his ears and glared at me. I thought he looked familiar, especially the ears, but far be it from me to make friends with a wild man on such short notice, so I only glanced at him and passed on. But I could not forget him. Where had I seen those ears? Oh! At last, Claire Futhey, or my name was mud. By this time the circus had started, and the crowds had gone from the side shows, so I hastened back to the wild man. I walked up to him, looked him over carefully, and at last spoke, “Claire 1 ” He jumped like he had been shot, reeled backward, clutched at his hair, and slipped. I was looking at a red-faced, bald-headed man, dressed in fur, lying sprawled on a huge wig. “Why, you old son-of-a-gun,” I exclaimed, “what are you doing here?” “Holy cats! Is it Lawrence? How does it happen you ' re here?” “Oh,” I replied, “that’s simple; I live here.” “Well,” he remarked, “my answer’s equally simple. I work here, just at present.” By this time he had crawled out of his cage and we were soon seated in the shade of a wagon outside of the tent, discussing old times. “But tell me about the bunch we graduated with,” I said at last. “I haven’t heard from any of them.” “Oh, Harry Stewart is in California. He married Anita, you know, and is now running a big fruit farm. Prunes, I believe, is his chief crop.” “Good for Harry and Anita,” I exclaimed; “but how about Sarah and Perk?” “Well,” he exclaimed, after a long silence. “Lawrence, women are funny things. Stay away from ’em; they’ll never do what you expect them to. Look Pajre twenty-three

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L22A THE LOWELLIAN “Dorris Reeves, who is a famous chemist, is in the hospital at present, re¬ covering from injuries received while performing an experiment. Lila, her partner, is working on some scheme for making face powder waterproof. “Rachael Dodge is quite an artist. She exhibited some pictures in New York recently. Everett Schultz is a boxer. He goes under the name of John L. Fitzmorris, and, as you probably know, fights next Labor Day for the heavyweight cham¬ pionship. Helen Schilling is a milliner in Lowell. She married Harold Beach, but Beach tried to stop an automobile by standing in front of it. and is now a cripple. “Madaline Gordon is in New York. She is society editor for the ‘New York- World,’ I believe. She has made quite a reputation for herself. “Zeke Sanger is working in Chicago, in the stockyards. He’s head of the shipping department for Swift. Well, I guess that’s all of them. So long. The crowds will be back soon and I must get in my cage,” and with that my wild man went back to the tent. And as I walked home 1 thought what a small world this is, after all. LAWRENCE TURNQUIST, ’23. A Psalm of Geometry Mr. Botkins is my teacher, I shall not pass. He maketli me to work dense problems. He maketli me to expose my ignorance before the class. Yea. though I study until midnight I shall learn no Geometry. The propositions trouble me and the trapezoids sorely disturb me. He prepareth quizzes for me in the presence of my enemies, My work runneth over. Surely zeroes and conditions shall follow me all the days of my life; And I shall dwell in the Geometry class forever. Page twenty-five