McKinley High School - McKinleyite Yearbook (Canton, OH)

Page 33 text:

CLASS SONG Words by Ethel Sander Verse T. Dear Mclfinlev lligh Schoolmwe are leav- ing' you tonight, But thoufrh we leave. we clon't foriret, the 5 5 trials and triumphs passed- The teachers dear who have helped us. As we journeyed on our way-- XVith them we leave a thoug'ht,thoug'l1 small X'Vhich they with pleasure will recall. Chorus Oh Class of nineteen-twenty, The clear maroon and white Uh Class of nineteen-twenty XYe'll keep your memory hright. Verse ll. Class of ninetecn-twenty. we are starting' out in life 'fo make our mark in peace or war, in pov- erty or strne, And though we all llllly drift apart, ,-Xnd in distant lands may roam lYe'll ne'er l'or 'et Klcliinlev lliffh 5 . 6 Nor the dear white and maroon. Verse lll. Classmates now we all are starting, out on ditlerent paths For three short years McKinley High has heen the home for all, .-Xnd when in future years we meet ,Xnd our youthful days recall XYe'll all remember Canton High and the class we loved so well. It was the desire of the Staff to honor both of its Faculty members hy printing their pictures in this hook, hut as Miss Lindsay was too modest to have her lair counter part exposed to the puhlic gaze, we therefore heg her to accept these few words of our appreciation of her and her work. The Staff, and the Seniors of room 550, consider Miss Lindsay as one of them- selves, and not merely as a teacher. This is, we think, a compliment to any teacher, and one which, sad to say, too few attain. McKinley lligh, however, is fortunate in having so many teachers who are real pals to their pupils, and it is in this capacity Page Thirty-one that we hail Bliss Lindsay, Monthly cen- sor, and ruler of room 350. Long may she reign! Klr. lflanawalt is another pal, and we are pleased to he honored with a picture of this renowned and justly adored hug- ologyf' instructor. Always popular among his pupils, he has gained the reputation for furnishing a perpetual surprise party with the contents of his ever well-stocked poc- kets. .X regular sport, never a kill-joy, he provides us with unceasing entertainment, so, here's to Mr. llanawalt. Let us all join in singing For lle's a .folly Good Fellow.

Page 32 text:

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Page 34 text:

CLASS POEM THE cnADUA'rE's DIARY By Caroline Seymour 'Tis the eve of our Coinmencement, As I linger in 1ny room, And through the open window comes The soft sweet scent of june. And through my mind comes rushing Memories of four full years, Of all my Iligh Schol pleasures, And all my High School fears. I idly pick my Diary up And as I thumb it o'er A kaleidoscopic picture seems To march across the floor. I see a timid company Go up the High School stair, And gaze with open wonderment At sights presented there. I see this self-same company Book-laden every night Go hastening home to study, by The last dim rays of lightg The first demerit slip marked 'ffourf' The Freshman Honor Roll, VVhere seeing our cognomen writ Brought joy unto our soul, The first real Freshman party,- llfhere all the girls were ones- Wfhere escorts were at premium And chivalry was none. The picture fades, and ini its stead Comes one of brighter hue,- The Soph'mores boldly striding in. lVell knowing what to do. The train moves on, a laughing throng, More parties are in order, And worries seem to lighten, though The lessons grow still harder. The juniors comeesagacious, proud. Not awed by Seniors now, llut confident that they have learned The wherefore,', and the how. I see the color rushes. where The Haunting banners flame, l see the old class rivalry, liver different, yet the same, I see the ,Iunior party with The candles shining low, lYhen the Seniors thought to plunge Unutterable woe. The march now grows triumphant, as I see our dear last year, The excitement of elections,-all The speeches we did hear, The nervous days of club try-outs, Dread Public Speaking day, The learning plays, orations, till Our nerves did almost fray, The joys of Senior festivals, XYhere worries were forgot ns in lYhen we danced and played and froliclced And our lessons mattered not. I see our streamers, red and white Go floating on the breeze, I see the Senior, ,ZOH signs Hung high up in the trees. Now comes the end-I drop the book The pageant moves from sight, But in my hand I'm holding still Two ribbons,fred and white. J Page Thirty-two