Paxton High School - Reflector Yearbook (Paxton, IL)

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CLASS POEM In an Indian settlement A tribe we see. Plainer than others Of this country. The tribe is that Of the Senior Class, Trying so hard Each thing to surpass. Their tactics of warfare Against all wrong Enable the settlement To sing a song; A song of triumph O’er all enemies. This tribe we call The Old Seminee.” They started young In this world of strife To find a better Way in life; They've wandered and worried Until good success Has caused great pleasure And much happiness. They’ve triumphed o’er all Of the tribes in town; They’ve carried honors And they've earned a crown; Their lives have been good---- They’ve succeeded in all; Now may each one Let fame never fall. May their lives reflect In the mirror of life. And may you look upward In times of strife; Look up to the image This mirror reflects And discard the things Their image rejects. —Evelyn Carr, '26. Page Twenty-Eight

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sponsibility was felt by all. The leaders were: Chief, Charles Greenan; assistant, Helen Newman; historian, Mildred Allen; secretary of trade, Mildred Ludlow; consuls. Miss Gracen, Mr. Garnett and Mrs. Swinney (formerly Miss Kerns but recently the squaw of Heap Big Chief John Swinney.”) This band of elders (Seniors) were the first to occupy the new village of wigwams erected by the five sages (School Board) under the Great Spirit’s blue canopy. Each Indian exerted his utmost power to keep this village spotless—the members of the council fire (Student Council) were their examples. In the autumn of the year of 1926 a staff was organized to chisel on immortal tablets a “Reflection of the Seniors’ last winter in the tepees of P. C. H. S. The chiseling of these tablets had to be paid for, and to acquire enough wampum for this important ceremony a Stunt Show was given in the vast and beautiful space which had thoughtfully been reserved in the new camp. This Stunt Show was a huge success, due to the patronizing spirit of other tribes. In the spring the operetta. Pickles, was given by the Senior class, the last tribal play in which these Seniors took part. Other events of the spring were the Junior-Senior Banquet, the Baccalaureate Sermon, and the Senior Class Assembly. As the sun sank over the western horizon on June 4. 1926, it looked for the last time on this one and united band of noble Seniors. The next day would see them setting forth in different directions, but for each there gleamed ahead a brilliant and inviting future. Vernette Larson. Mildred Allen SENIOR EPITAPHS Here he lies—dear old George, His Ford and all went down the gorge. Here lies the body of Eleanor Larson, She jilted a bandit to marry a parson. Here are the remains of Everett O. He kicked the mule ’cause it wouldn’t go. Here lies Gordon in a heap. He died from doing the pole vault leap. Here lies the body of Evelyn Ostrom, She drank strong coffee instead of postum. Page Twenty-Seven

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CLASS PROPHECY Are you getting tired? Why didn't you ask me that three miles ago? I’m disappointed myself! We've been tramping thru these woods all morning and we haven't found a solitary arrow head. It’s your own fault. You would come. I must say this is a fine way to spend our honeymoon. I'm certainly having a wonderful time! Now, dear, don't get sarcastic. Maybe we 11 find something along this old Indian trail yet. Hello! What s this? About one hundred yards ahead of us stood an old hut. It was not deserted, however, for a stream of thin blue smoke rose from the chimney. We approachd eagerly, our interest aroused. My husband's thoughts were, Maybe it's a hermit. My thoughts, Now I can sit down and rest. But our knockings on the door were futile. Since it was inhabited we had no right to enter, of course. We were about to give up in despair, when around the corner of the hut appeared an old Indian, bent and ragged and smelling strongly of herbs. Tegus! he cried in the language of the Crowes. What are you doing here? My husband, who, when a boy, had lived on a Crowe reservation, where his grandfather was the government agent, understood him. He responded to the man in his native tongue. The old Indian was overwhelmed with joy upon finding someone with whom he could converse. He ushered us into the hut, all the while carrying on a rapid fire conversation with my husband. Of course I could not understand a word of it and was frightfully bored. I guess I showed it, for I noticed they were talking about me. The old man winked, walked over to a shelf, and took down a long, beautifully carved pipe. Carefully he laid it in my lap. No, thank you, I don't smoke.” 1 thought it a joke of my husband's and was disgusted. Why did he persist in bothering me when I was so tired ? But my husband quickly explained to me. It was a magic pipe. If one smoked it, one could see in the smoke arising from it anything one wished. Try it, said my husband. What would you like to see? The old medicine man was filling the pipe with some sweet smelling herbs. 1 was interested in spite of myself. What did I want to see? Ah! 1 knew! I would like to see my old class-mates, where they were and what they were doing. I settled down comfortably on a couch of skins and took a puff. Here goes, old pipe, if you’re so good, show me our dear President Greenan. To my surprise the veil of smoke parted and before me stood Charley and the King of England. The King was signing a piece of paper. (Charley had his pockets filled with Irish confetti.) The document read, From now on, Ireland is a free nation. Charley always was good at getting what he wanted. The next scene was that dear little stucco cottage, over on the boulevard near the swimming pool at Gibson. Some dirty little children were making mud pies on the steps. Come in here. Junior and Gordon! said a woman coming to the door. Page Twenty-Nine