Paxton High School - Reflector Yearbook (Paxton, IL)

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Paxton High School Reflector i9 Tribute of the Seniors to P. H. S, (Apologies to Wordsworth.) How dear to my heart is the old Paxton High School, When fond recollections present it to view; The trees and the shrubs, and the lawn that surrounds it, With every known flower that in it there grew. The walls of red brick, and the walks that led to it, The old stepping stone in front cf the door. The broad oaken stairs with their banisters tempting To rush our decending from floor to floor. The dear, dear professors, the kind, kind professors, Who made us walk stately right out through the door. Four years seemed so long to the eyes of us Freshmen, When first we enrolled in old P. H. S. The class rooms, the hallways, the dignified Seniors, All served to confuse us we do now confess. The teachers appalled us with looks condescending. Till we wondered why we ever came here at all. But years have worked wonders, and now you behold us, Dignified Seniors so learned and tall. Yes, dignified Seniors, the wisest of Seniors That ever passed out through the P. H. S. halls. We’re sorrowing to leave you, we know you will miss us You need our example, of this we’re quite sure. But cheer up our school mates, your day is approaching. The day of commencement which each of us lures. To all our teachers who helped to prepare us For this Gala Day our thanks are all due. Their wisdom, their patience, their kind understanding Has made our four years seem but days that are few. Our dear, kind instructors, our long suffering teachers, To you and to schoolmates we bid fond adieu. —Ethel Swanson. SENIORS LOSE THEIR DIGNITY. Yes, the Seniors did lose their dignity for one whole evening, as the cows and o;her on lookers (if there were any) will tell you. The Senior Picnic, in the latter part of September, was the first social event in P. H. S., worth mention. The big parade started out at five o’clock for Horner's timber and arrived en masse (Fords too.) It ought not be called by the enphon-

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18 Paxton High School Reflector regular school routine. When four o’clock had come and school was over for the day, 1 went to congratulate the teacher on her splendid school. She liked her work and loved her pupils, and I knew that she would deal kindly with that little chap who was still gazing steadily into his book. As I passed his desk to go home, I looked to see what the boy was so diligently studying. It proved to be a picture of Sir Galahad, the front-piece of his reading book, and opposite it were written the lines of that remarkable poem. I had left the building only a short time when I saw the boy appear. A little girl, doubtless the one who had sent the note, was waiting to walk home with him. She was happy and gay, and soon the cheery sound of her voice died away as they walked towards home. Thus are healed those aching sorrows and disappointments of childhool days, which linger long in the memory of those who have attended a country school. CHARACTERIZATIONS OF SENIOR CLASS—DO YOU AGREE? A liberal soul shall be made fat.—'Kenneth Smith. A man that hath friends must show himself friendly.—Fred LaBare. Deliver me from the oppression of man.—Lois Moffett. A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance.—'Genevieve Carlsten. Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue, keepeth his soul from troubles.—'Charles Jensen. I behaved myself as though he were my brother.—Catharine Thompson. I love them that love me.—Maurine Schneider. A merry heart is a good medicine.—'Lawrence Sackett. Better is a dinner of herbs, where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therein.—Helen Johnson. Walk with wise men and ye shall be wise.—Dean Ireland. The wise in heart shall be called prudent.—Florence Hanson. The righteous shall grow like a cedar.—Fannie Watson. He winketli with his eyes, he speaketh with his feet, he teaeheth with his fingers.—Vernon Moore. A soft answer turneth away wrath.—Mary Currie. My son, despise not the chastening cf thy father, neither be weary of his correction.—Nobel Johnson. The lips of the wise disperse knowledge.—Frances Culver. See’st thou a man diligent in his business? He shall stand before kings.—Francis Wenger. As a flower of the field, so she flourisheth.—Agnes Barnes. It is vain for me to rise up early.—Maurice Levin. She that is slow of wrath is cf great understanding.—Florence Bear. Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy and drink thy wine with a merry heart.—Bessie Shinker. She dearly loves to talk and does it well.—Ruby Weberg. Know you not my importance?—Sylvia Funk. Not only good, but good for something.—Pauline Berquist. —Helen Johnson.

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20 Paxton High School Reflector ions name of “Picnic, when in reality, it was a Weenie Roast. And such weenies as they had! The menu consisted of buns, weenies, pickles and “P-i-e. (Ask certain Senior boys, who lost their dignity about the pies.) Then when it was all dark and spooky, and everything had been eaten up, the boys brought out the fireworks. Big mystery! how did all that sodium disappear from the Lab. and find its way to Horners Creek? At eight o’clock the “facultee” called a halt in the game, and the Seniors embarked for the homeward journey—but, strange to say. the gate could not be found. After running over stumps and once or twice nearly sending a cow to the next world, the object of our search was located and so out upon the broad highway the Seniors sped. PARODY ON “THE RAVEN.” ENGLISH IV. Once upon an evening dreary, while I pondered weak and weary. O’er the dreadful task assigned to me in English IV— Suddenly there came a ringing, as of someone gently singing, T’was the telephone a’dingling. ringing near the side hall door. ‘ Tis some lucky person. said I, “who’s not taking English IV — Only that and nothing more. And then I listened, only hearing, what I had just then been fearing, “For goodness 'sakes, go stop that phone at once, I do implore!” And as I went to step that ringing, stop that loud and raucous dinging, O’er the wires a voice came singing, heard by me so oft before. Let's go see Douglas, climbing chimneys, leaping trains, just as before— Always smiling evermore.” Alas, alas!” I gave my answer. “I wish I were a necromancer. Then this poem would be created for tomorrow’s English IV; But the fact is, though undaunted, I am almost being haunted, I must be quite enchanted, in this work I so adore: Fcr no ideas will come to my mind for English IV— Blankness here and nothing more.” New the silence is unbroken; no one since that time has spoken; And my work is nearly finished on the poem for English IV. And the more I've sat divining, with my head in thought reclining, I have made this sacred vow that I've never made before: That when this task is ended, my poetic life is o'er. Quoth my poor brain, “Nevermore.” —Frances Culver.