Pekin High School - Pekinian Yearbook (Pekin, IL)

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FD FI Class Prophecy Jn □ By Mabel Byram. □ Ikon------------------------------------------------l0J FTER traveling for many years I was seized with a sudden desire to visit my home town—Pekin. As there was nothing to prevent my return to the scenes of my childhood, I packed my traveling hag, bearded the Rock Island at Chi ago, an I in a few hours found myself gazing at the old familiar landmarks so dear to the homesick wanderer. One day as 1 was strolling around the town, my attention was attracted by a magnificent building, the long-desired high school. As I stoo 1 gazing at it in rapt admiration, the hell sounded for dismissal. Thinking that 1 should like to see a school dismissal once more, I stood aside and watched the children come trooping out of the stately doors and scatter in all directions. Memories came thronging back and it seemed but yesterday that I had been a school girl myself. As 1 stood there, I wondered what had become of that brilliant galaxy of stars, the Class of 1915. “Surely,” thought I. “they must have failed to attain the lofty heights predicted for them, or I, in common with the rest of the world, would have heard of them., Yvere they really so superior, 1 wonder, or did they just seem so to my undeveloped intellect? Let me recall them one at a time, and see what my mature judgment says. First, there was Louis Dunkelberg, the Demosthenes of the class. Has he startled the world with his eloqeunce, or was he just a plain, ordinary, every-day sort of fellow? 1 should like to see Louis—” “Hello, there!” interrupted a deep, musical voice, and I looked up, straight into the eyes of Louis himself. He was not alone, however. Clinging lovingly to his arm was his wife, another old classmate, Lee Inez Latham. Having greeted my old friends cordially, we all sat down on the sehoolhouse steps, and an animated conversation began at once. Louis and Lee Inez were both eager to know what I had done since my graduation and 1 was equally eager to know what news they had concerning the other members of the Class of ’15. I told them that I was traveling saleslady for the Yictrola company. my youthful ambition having been aroused by the ictrola man A ?£)

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When we entered our fourth year, a new superintendent was at the head of affairs. Some changes were inaugurated and a few rules which had fallen into disuse were revived. To our surprise and dismay, an inventory revealed the distressing fact that there were some among us who were woefully short in the matter of credits. Classes were re-adjusted, an 1 it was found that out of the brave little ban 1 that bad entered so proudly in 1911, only twenty-three remained to uphold the purple and gold of the senior class. In spite of our diminished number, however, we succeeded in keeping up our spirits, and relieved the strain of arduous work by various social activities. On December 11, 1914, we were entertained at the home of Ralph and John Goar. The event was really in the nature of a Hallowe’en party, the class having carelessly negle te 1 to celebrate that important day. Among the refreshments served was that delicious beverage associated with old-fashioned Hallowe’en parties, cider, and two of the senior boys were openly accused of having partaken thereof so freely that there was none left for the witches. Needless to say that the accusation was unjust. If a senior is not wise enough to practice moderation, who is? Later, a one-act play entitled “An Economical Boomerang” was given for the benefit of the class. After the program, games, songs and refreshments held sway until the coming of the “wee snia’ hours.” No history of the Class of T5 would be complete without mention of the bobsled party. Twenty of us gathered at the High School, and started out for a jolly good time, and a jolly good time we certainly had. About eleven o’clock we stopped at the home of Wesley Maurer, where delicious refreshments were served. Then, fed, warmed and cheered, we returned to our homes with one more pleasant memory to bind us closer together. Now only a few weeks remain in which we may enjoy the daily companionship of those who have kept step with us during our High School career. These weeks are to be the most eventful of our school life. In June, we go forth to battle with the world, armed with the diplomas we have worked so hard to obtain. Whether we succeed or fail, depends upon the use we make of those talents which have been entrusted to us. But no matter what life has in store for us, our future will be brighter and happier because of the days we have spent in dear old Pekin High. Found in a cook-book: “Sit on the stove and stir briskly.”

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who visited the High School when I was a senior. In reply to their many inquiries, I related what I knew of our former classmates. I told them about my chance meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Dean at the Astor Hotel in New York. The happy couple were on their wedding trip, and were so wrapped up in each other that they were quite unaware of the amusement they were creating. After 1 had succeeded in attracting their attention, we talked awhile about old times and Airy told me that she had engaged Harold Rust as janitor of their beautiful new home in South Pekin, and that he gave excellent satisfaction, nature having apparently fitted him for that humble, but useful posi-tion. As she and her Frank were on their way to the theater, they invited me to accompany them. I did so and you may imagine our astonishment when we recognized in one of the vaudeville artists, our old friend, Bessie Marrs, who was amusing the audience with a really clever stunt entitled, “The Sneeze and its Emotional Significance.” Never had I dreamed that so trifling a matter as a sneeze, however unique or explosive, could elicit such applause! Stimulated by the rapt attention of my listeners, 1 went on to tell of a visit to Berlin, where I had encountered several more of my classmates. While strolling about the wonderful university there, 1 heard the sweet strains of a violin. 1 tiptoed to a door that stood slightly ajar and looked in. A long-haired, spectacled, austere-looking professor was giving a lesson to a large, blond lady—unmistakably a German. There seemed to be something familiar about the professor, but not until he turned and dropped on his knees before the haughty lady did I recognize my old friend, William (1. Janssen. Not wishing to be a witness to the humiliation evidently in store for him, I fled silently down the corridor. Breathless and agitated, 1 found a deserted bench in a quiet corner and sat down to r-est. The moment I was seated my eyes fell upon a beautiful mural painting. A closer examination revealed the modest “F. Hallstein” in the lower right-hand corner. Upon inquiry, 1 learned that the artist lived in Berlin. The next day, 1 called at his home and was shown at once to the studio. There, to my surprise, 1 found not one, but two of my old classmates. After a delightful visit, I left an ving with me as a souvenir a charming water color sketch bearing the signature “Helen Wood Hallstein.” Upon returning to my hotel, I found awaiting me a letter from Irene Koeneke. It did not. surprise me in the least to hear that she was Mary Fuller’s understudy and occasionally appeared in some difficult roles. Irene, however, spoke modestly of her talents, and attributed her success principally to the striking coiffures contrived for her by her hairdressers, Misses Becker and Mott. She naively confided to me