Mansfield High School - Manhigan Yearbook (Mansfield, OH)

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THE ANNUAL SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY. (N. B.—Timc. 1920) It was Saturday night. As an agent of the firm of Dr. Johnson Son, I had experienced a particularly strenuous week, canvassing in the vicinity of Pittsburg, and, thoroughly tired out, I faced the entertaining prospect of an evening in a hotel and a still more entertaining Sunday. As I neared my hotel 1 heard the sound of a tambourine and the strains of Come, Thou Wanderer, and then I noticed a little circle of Salvationists, hold¬ ing a meeting on the opposite corner. On approaching the group, 1 gazed idly around the circle, and then my attention became suddenly riveted upon the face of the singer. Those features under the poke bonnet were unmistakably those of my old classmate, Virginia Stark. My first impulse was to speak, but, considering the place and the onlookers, I kept silent and thoughtfully entered my hotel. In the evening, not wishing to stay alone, I went to the Y. M. C. A. where 1 was told the third number on the lecture course was to be given. It turned out to be the famous Judson Concert Co. headed by our old friend Vance. His solos on the flute were greatly appreciated. With him as pianist, was Carrie Herring, and Martin Jell iff was basso-cantante. Sunday morning, I attended the Emery M. E. Church. The choir was led by Marie Pickering. I was becoming inured to the unexpected, and so did not evince my surprise, but when the minister rose and gave out the reading, 1 could not—1 simply could not prevent an exclamation. It was the Reverend Frederick Langdon! My neighbor looked furtively at me with a gentle reproof in her eyes. 1 immediately subsided, and listened to a well-delivered sermon. At dinner in the hotel, I noticed two M. H. S. ’oSs—Floy Campbell and Irene Massa, conversing over their menu cards at a table on the farther side of the room. I left early Monday morning for Washington, business there urgently requir¬ ing my attention. This off my hands, I went to the House of Representatives with a friend, where we heard an admirable speech on the Monopoly of Aerial Lines , delivered by Congressman Charles Sheriff. This created quite a com¬ motion and Speaker Jenner had to tap sharply with his gavel to enforce order. On my way to the headquarters of my firm I met Marie Waring. Marie con¬ ducts a Select School for Young Ladies in Washington. Because of the rigid con¬ trol it is becoming more select all the time. Florence Shires is one of the faculty of this school, Marie told me that two of our old classmates were in the Arctic Sanitarium here, and after making out a — 3 1 —

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THE ANNUAL At this poynte in ye playe, ye Devylle seizeth ye now repentant youth and flingeth him (“it”—to be exact) into ye seething depths of Hades, from whence cometh ye fearsome noises as of hissinge steme. Soone ye Freshman slowlie draxyeth ye bodie up out of ye Infernal Abysse, followed by ye execrations of ye dissapointed Devylle and chantyng ye truthfulle and self-explanatory verse: “Oh woe is me if I shoulde telle Of the wonderful things in-there. You sente me down there, a few things for to learn: They sente me back, saying ' You’re too greene to burn. 1 ” Then appeareth ye slothful, sacrilegious, sanctimonious Sophomore upon ye scene and he fareth like upto ye emerald Freshman, exceptyng that he returneth notte, although there ariseth much sounde as of seething and of hissyng as before. Neither can ye refractory Junior appease ye risyng wrath of ye aforesaid St. Peter who is aroused to extreme indignation whene ye Junior is forced to make ye damnying admissione thate as yete no preparations have beene made to banquette ye nobell Senior. At thys juncture St. Peter handeth ye Junior ye lemon muche after this fashion: “Go the primrose waye to the everlastyng bonfyre.” Lastlie appeareth ye nobell Senior, whose cornyng maketh ye hearte of St. Peter to rejoice and who is welcomed by this encomium: “Hail thee, thoue nobell youth, We’ve waited thy comyng, in sooth: I wille be pleased to lend thee mye eyre For news of thy triumphs to heyre.” At ye earnest solicitashun of ye Sainte, ye Senior recounteth ye manie oc- complishmentes, ye athletic doyngs, ye powere in stuntes, etc: “I have entered into every gay me In a fair and honest trie for fayme. Highe hopes thate burne like stars sublyme 1 cherished, in hope of this joifulle tyme.” Whereupon ye venerable Sainte interrupteth hyme in this wyse: “Pause not thou inne indecissione! Consummate thy youthfulle visionne! Welcome to thy joies Elysianne! “Oh, nobell youth thou canst indeede aspyre To this geelorious Heavyn of desyre Where enter onlie those whom we admyrc.” Thene he ushereth ye Senior into ye Halles of Paradise amidst greate rejoic- yng amongst ye attendant angels at ye valuable accessione to theire numbere and paeans of prayse for ye classe of ’08. L. A. B.— ' oS, — 3 °

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THE ANNUAL report of sales and receipts to hand in to the firm she and I went to see them. Kathleen Mendenhall and Marie Marwick were there. The trained nurse in attend¬ ance, Clare McElHinney, who has charge of E. Ward, stated that it was excessive walking in their younger days that had brought them to this. My mind reverted to the time when we were in our Senior year at M. H. S. and these same girls promenaded in the halls (promenaded pronounced with a long “a”) and the explanation made all clear. In the evening 1 boarded a train for Boston. The conductor was Wilbur D. Lindsey. There was a family of German immigrants in the car, and so Wilbur had a chance to air his proficiency in Dutch. From the train boy 1 purchased McFarland’s Joke Book, compiled by our old Grind Editor Jennie. It was the only train joke-book I had ever seen that was the least bit original. My train was six hours late, (1 travelled over the Erie, which still retained its propensity of never being on time) and so it was about g A. M. when I arrived. I went to the branch office of my firm, and found that Lee Baxter, the salesman in that district, was laid up with a bad sprain, caused by slipping on the ice, and so I was called upon to deliver his orders for Dr. Johnson’s remedies and recipes. At the last place where 1 went my ring was answered by the friend of my schooldays—Lenore Cunningham. Truly, this business world l lived in was not so prosaic, after all. And who would have thought that anything romantic could have possibly been connected with “Dr. Johnson’s R. R.’s!” In our mutual recollections we forgot all about them and their health-giving properties. Lenore told me that Carson Branch lived in the next block and had gained quite a reputation as illustrator of a leading Boston journal. Lenore and 1 went to a play at the Metropolitan in the evening where we saw Will Finney in the role of Macbeth and Katherine Baxter as Lady Macbeth. The night-walking scene was quite touching. When in a book store the next morning, a set of books on Mythology came to my attention. This proved to be the joint work of Mildred Clark and Maud Walker. The afternoon saw me in New York. Here, I hate to confess it—I lost my bearings, and had to call the assistance of a policeman. This blue-coated, gold- buttoned minion of the law was Frank Fox, into whose hand l slipped a half-dollar which he didn’t refuse, and I was soon made cognizant with my whereabouts. In the Social Column of the New York Herald I read that Glenna Helen Wick- ert would entertain at a six o’clock dinner. Glenna’s grace and charm of manner, as well as her conversational abilities have made her a great favorite in New York society. The last two weeks before my vacation, 1 worked hard at my canvassing, and and when the last day finally drew out its uninteresting length, I gave a sigh of relief and my soul grew light in the anticipation of that trip abroad which my wife and 1 had planned to take. My wife, M. H. S.’ers would know best under her maiden name—Ruth Finfrock. The last arrangements were completed, the Mauretania was ready to start and, amid the many farewells and final messages, we ascended the gang plank, — 32 —