Millersville University - Touchstone Yearbook (Millersville, PA)

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CLASS HISTORY. 19 wild turmoil of shouting and cheering was wafted down to us the martial strains of hymns of victory, chanted triumphantly by our “naughty-three” co-eds, inspiring us on to do greater deeds of valor, while the “naughty-four” girls could but gaze, with tear-dimmed eyes and burning cheeks dyed crimson with shame, upon the disgraceful overthrow of their fallen heroes, and see them creep from the scene of their discomfiture, utterly exhausted and with conquered shields reversed. To signalize our triumph we intended displaying our ensign, but the Profs thought the Midlers might be pained thereby; and as their burden of sorrow was already more than they could easily bear, we generously desisted. It was rumored that several Middlers, in the fury and rage of bitter disappointment, did for a space lose all self-control, and really did hazard unconsidered interference; but they accidentally (?) were brought into painful contact with certain hilarious Juniors, and were badly hurt. The combat was aweinspiring to behold; to see Ruel and Hoffie and several other feather-headed desperadoes of the class of “nineteen-four,” being whirled, struggling but helpless, about that terrible vortex of Junior humanity. The field of battle reeked with Hoffie’s gore and lay o’erstrewn with Ruel’s outer garments, when the Profs mercifully interfered and saved enough of the mangled remnants to enable identification by their weeping friends and relatives. The Senior girls also—all honor be due them!—assisted by the noble-hearted girls of “naughty-five,” valorouslv. like Amazons of old, repelled all nefarious attempts upon our victorious ensign. Twice they bowed their proud crests in submission to the very dust, before our unconquerable ranks. Such is the punishment in store for the over-audacious. It is a well-known fact that Ruel, president, and Hoffie, athletic manager, of “naughty-four,” did not recover their wonted airiness for several weeks. They even ceased to snap, “mirabile dictu” after their disgraceful exhibitions on the Gym floor. After we had done with them, the Juniors put in a little practice work on them, but were forced after several trials to discard them as utterly useless. In athletics, I am proud to say, we henceforth stood the acknowledged champions in whatever channels we have directed our energies.

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18 THE HAMMER. anything when the fates are unpropitious. Full many a bitter defeat they were destined to suffer at our hands ere they realized their sad mistake. Their second undoing was in the field of athletics. The class of “nineteen-four” felt, or thought it felt, that it possessed several valuable secrets which it would be well to reveal to the Senior class, among which were the following: that they knew something about athletics; that they knew something about basket ball; that they knew very much about basket ball; that they knew more about basket ball than anybody else, including the Senior class. Such unparalleled audacity could not go unpunished. You must bear in mind that they were still young and inexperienced. inclined to foolhardy recklessness and looseness of tongue; consequently you will not be at all surprised to learn of their challenging us to a contest, and our prompt acceptance of that challenge. The great day at last was at hand. Gymnasia Hall overflowed with the rank and beauty of the school. The gong sounded; the gazing multitudes sat mute and breathless, with eyes intent upon the little Spartan band of “nineteen-three” standing with eyes and muscles alert. Suddenly the shrill whistle startled the pregnant silence—the great contest was on. Suddenly, by skillful manipulations of the ball, and partly through the extreme slowness of the Middler team, a brilliant goal was thrown by our boys; we had tasted the first fruits of victory. A great shout rent the roof; pandemonium reigned. Soon our boys had a proverbial cinch of it. The Middlers both in the gallery and on the floor lost what little presence of mind they may originally have had. Our boys’ method became the simple proceeding of the following two features: First, the ball was passed as soon as convenient to Hully; second, the goal was thrown. This usually occurred every three minutes, including time wasted by the umpire, and frequent periods of rest required by the Middlers. You may compute the score by giving the Middler team a goal for every tewnty minutes; the result will be the following proportion: The Senior class : the Middle class :: 34 : 14; or solving, the Middler class = 14-34 of the Senior class. Countless deeds of valor were performed that day. The galleries became demented with uncontrollable enthusiasm, and through the roaring din and

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20 THE HAMMER. Not long after this we had our Senior Sociable, one of the greatest occasions in the historical annals of this institution, for by it we fully established our supremacy in social, elocutionary and decorative spheres. We not only had a unique, but, I am safe in asserting, a fascinating sociable. The faculty was enchanted, the students dazzled, and the Middlers bewildered. By the superior excellence of our own artistic productions, the charming purity and classic beauty of our decorative arrangement, and novelty of entertainment, we proved ourselves as conclusively champions in the social and {esthetic field as in the athletic or intellectual. Is it necessary for me to drag down further humiliation upon their devoted heads? Theirs is indeed a tale of woe, of repeated failures and miscarried plans. How Doc and Hoflie captured (?) our class bunting will ever remain a pleasurable memory with us; with what stealthy tread Hoffman approached Doc's door; how gently his choking stage whisper sounded through the keyhole, and, alas! not only his “Yes, it will be dead easy! We will simply walk down and bring it up”—sublime faith! “But when they got there the bunting was gone, And so the poor Middlers had 110116.” The cry of anguish, those awful maledictions issuing from Doc’s enraged soul, still rings through my ears, as they discovered the direful truth that again they had been “Too late, too late, To gain anything at such a gait.” Poor boy Ross! he still is moved to painful emotions whenever he hears the strains of “Where is my wandering boy to-night?” Shall I answer the query? No, let us spare him the pain and humiliation of recalling that fateful night of cold and famine and sleepless anxiety, and we need not be informed, for that night three of our number spent a blissful night searching out the mysteries of the heavens from Rooms A and B. About this time also an extremely destructive and unlooked-for conflagration suddenly broke out in close proximity to the Gymnasium, causing extreme excitement, which did not subside for several days. The fire was supposed to be of incendiary origin, and was not