Madison High School - Cauldron Yearbook (Madison, OH)

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THE CALDRON sister Cora who is running headlong into the waves. It was just three years ago to- day that Dorothy discovered a gold mine in their back yard. Now I see an excited throng carrying an aviator on its shoulders. It is Walter Gunn, and he must have just won the aeroplane race he entered last week. Ah! The vision darkens and a theater appears. Hamlet is being played and the audience is breathlessly watching the duel between Hamlet and Laertes. Hamlet sinks as Laertes stabs him and I recognize him as Charles Hart, the man who has filled Fritz Leiber’s shoes. Now. I see a big ocean liner passing. On the bridge of the deck is the captain scanning the horizon with his glasses. As he lowers them I recognize this bronzed face to be that of Edward Keyse. Here comes Billy Kosicek to salute the captain. Judging from the number of brass buttons on his coat I know that he is an officer on the boat. I see a scene in the ballroom of the same ship. I quickly recognize the man who is playing the drums so furiously as James Pavny. The scene changes to a street in Venice. I see Clarence Lossing deftly guiding a gondola on its course. I thought he w ould tire of driving a car all his life. The vision is different now! The rain is pouring down in torrents making traffic slow in the big city. Here comes une petite demoiselle” whom the wind almost car- ries away. She turns into a large department store where ari elevator takes her to her stop. There she enters a large room where there are many busy stenographers. She slips into her place and quickly starts typing. Her name—it is Marie Ross. She speaks to the girl next to her and I gasp again when I recognize Lucille Faust. But a big surprise awaits me. From an inner door marked “President” walks John North He is talking to, or rather, listening to, a young woman. Her face is familiar to the newspaper world for it is Mary Wingard, the great financial wizard. The vision changes and it is night in the same city. The small figure I recognize as Marie Ross is climbing a flight of stairs in an apartment house. The door opens and a large figure hurries forth to meet her. Of course it is Genevieve Manley who is go- ing fifty-fifty with Marie by taking care of the apartment while Marie works. Again the scene changes to a room in a farmhouse where a sweet-faced woman is sewing beneath a lamp. I remember, now, that Lucille Diedrich married a few years ago. How different is the scene before me now! A red-haired man is pacing up and down an office that is wildly bestrewn with papers. Something must have upset this genius for it is Melvin Naughton, editor of the Daily Thunderstorm.” This paper is very influential in business and political affairs. Now I see a big scene at a military school graduation. Well. wel|, is that Ben Greene handing out the diplomas? It must be—and yet that duty is reserved for the Secretary of War. So Ben Greene is Secretary of War and I always thought Ben was peacefully inclined. I see a scene in a schoolroom. The young teacher is standing before her pupils with a puzzled look upon her face. Suddenly she smiles and the children lean back in their seats with a relieved look upon their faces. She is Alice Pitschmann. the young woman who was recently made principal of Madison Grade Schools, which, I feel, is but a step toward her teaching career. The scene now carries me to a studio at the top of a very high building. In the center of the room is a girl in a painter’s smock, putting the finishing touches on a beautiful peacock she is painting. Well I do remember her face for it is Dorothy Smith, the girl that has been winning so many prizes with her paintings. Dorothy had plenty of practice on the blackboards of M. M. H. S. What is this I see now? It is a holiday in Madison. A crowd is gathered about a platform in the park. Helen Weber is being cheered with applause. According to the latest reports from Madison, Helen is the first mayoress ever elected there. Katherine Lang is her assistant campaign manager. That vision is gone and before me I see a large room where many women are sew- ing on beautiful dresses. A door opens and a woman enters. The lettering on the nineteen

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THE CALDRON Class Prophecy ODAY feeling: the need of excitement, I decide that I shall visit a spiritualist. Upon arriving I find him to be very tall, dark and fierce looking with a far away look in his eyes that seems as though he can see into the future very clearly. I ask him if he can call before me a vision of all the classmates of 1929 as they will be in 1939. He looks blank for a moment and then, nodding his head, he leads me into a darkened room where I sit for five minutes without seeing any- thing. But suddenly a vision appears before me. There is a roomful of little Chinese boys and girls gazing steadfastly at a young woman who is holding them spellbound by her rapid speech. I can recognize her by the tilt of her head. It is Ruth Adlard teaching the heathen in China. The scene changes and I can see Dorothy Akins handing a basketful! of food and clothing to a group of delighted poor children. Dorothy has been a social service worker for five years. What is this I see before me now? It is a large reproduction of a magazine page. There is a woman standing at the side of a table covered with fancy dishes. Ah! I see, it is Mable Alber. the head of the domestic science department for Good Housekeeping. Now I view a busy scene in a beauty parlor. Advancing gracefully across the room is a tall, strikingly handsome woman, who is evidently in command of things. Marinda Allen! I recognize the dark-haired person she is approaching the moment she smiles. It is Eunice Potter who, now that I think of it, is Marinda’s partner. I see long rows of flowers in a greenhouse. Emerging from behind a clump of ferns is Mary Anielski holding a huge spray of roses. What is Mary doing there? Now I gaze upon a scene in a church where there are many beautifully dressed people. Far in the front I can barely see the organist’s head bobbing back and forth. For a fraction of a second I see her profile as she pulls a stop. It is Helen Stearns, the organist in this huge church. But. who is this beautiful blushing bride who is advancing down the aisle? I gasp with astonishment when I recognize her to be Winifred Babcock. Now I see an immense room filled with furniture. By the authoritative manner in which that tall young man is pushing those chairs in place and giving out orders to his men I judge him to be the manager of this big furniture house. Delford Behm is the man. I viewr a flower bedecked platform which is surrounded by crowds of people. Edna Davet is rising to speak. I recall that she is running for governor of Ohio. I see a girl standing on a balcony looking at stars through a telescope. Well, well, it is Lucy Ferguson, the famous astrologist who discovered that the moon is 239,999 miles from the earth instead of 240,000 miles. A long corridor in a hospital greets my eyes. Two primly starched figures are wheeling a white table holding a motionless figure. They turn abruptly and enter an operating room, but in that instant I recognize Mary Dunlap and Anna Escola, Winifred Baumgarten is the third nurse holding a towel for Raymond Neff who is busy sharpening a gleaming knife. The scene changes quickly. Dorothy Fell is seated beneath a brilliant sunshade watching the bounding turf. The signs around indicate that this is Palm Beach. Dorothy must be watching her eighteen

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THE CAL I) RON door says Ruth Fisher, manager—dressmaking. As I look at her closely I see that it is indeed Ruth Fisher. Oh! what has happened? I see clouds of smoke clearing away. Emerging from beneath all this is a blackened face with singed eyebrows and eyelashes. I can barely recognize him, but it is Luther Rutter, renowned scientist, who is still looking for the ‘'definition of electricity.” I rise now for that is the last of the seance. Tomorrow I must start my new duties as a teacher in Arkansas public schools. —Virginia Lyons The Class Will THE Senior Class, sadly bemoaning their poor fate, must leave this world of care and trouble, joys and laughter, always with a plentiful splattering of tears and giggles, all known as Schooldays. As they “pass out” they leave their “last will and testament” to be wept and laughed over: The following leave as memories to their friends, each their dearest souvenirs and belongings: Del, that school-girl complexion to the Palmolive Advertising Co. Ruth F., my favorite book Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” to Winifred Thompson. Mary W., My pep, I got it, can’t keep it—doggone it! must give it” to Lucille Brotzman. Ben, my ardent Paulette to any one who has the patience to write to a sweet French girl. Anna, to the next B. B. Capt., this rule, Don’t EVER make eyes at blonde, curly- haired underclassmen.” Melvin, my burning blushes to Jake Lee. Luther, my old tin can to Cutie Bezdek. The last hundred miles are the roughest! Winifred Baumgarten, my almond green” flirting eyes to Peggy Hawkins. Mary D., a little beauty secret—a smile will make a Cinderella out of you. Alice, my motherly part in the Senior play to Jerry Wellman. Helen W., my beloved violin to Oren Whipple. Edna D., my great orating ability in English to Rennie Walker. Lucille F., my Tale of Two Cities” to the bookcase, forever and a day, till the pages shall fade and wither to dust, and crumble away.” Pat, sympathy to all the broken hearts that my tlirting blue eyes have caused. Lucille D., my perpetual tongue to Betty Adlard, so she won’t be so quiet. Mary A., to the Brunettes Gentlemen may prefer blondes” but They marry Bru- nettes!” Watch my dust!! Walt G., mah gold headed cane; mah derby hat; mah distaste of those beastly ath- letics, mah wooden leg, bah jove! to Abie Gelber. Billy Kosicek, my football suit, shoes, and sundry to Wesley Hunter. Dot F., my Geneva boy friend—to any one who can get him. Johnny, my “Grin, Grit and Glory” to Roland Miller. Eunice, my title “Class Beauty” to Holly. Winnie Babcock, my spikes to Bob McCune. Do they fit, Bob? Ray N., my curly locks to Fuzzy Biddison. Minnie, my “dancing dogs” to Docky Turner. James P., my golden Silence to Oliver Seifert. Dot A., my little verse call me when you’re feeling blue, And I’ll sympathize with you.” Genevieve M., My beloved Perrichon to the Juniors—Hope it chokes you, too. (Continued on Page 23) twenty