Pekin High School - Pekinian Yearbook (Pekin, IL)

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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

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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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that most of her salary was spent for switches, puffs, curls and combs. After I left Berlin, I heard nothing more of the Class of ’15 until 1 embarked for America. My voyage across the ocean was most enjoyable, for John Goar was captain of the steamship Theosaurus, and he ana ms wife, nee Annetta Soltermann, were especially kind to me. John gave me an old Peoria Journal to read, and there, in glaring headlines, was announced the appearance at the Hippodrome of the celebrated musical trio, Ehrlieher, Alfs and Widmier. Never had I had more interested listeners than Louis and Lee Inez as I related the above facts, but now, having finished my recital, I plied them with questions. I noticed that Lee Inez did all the talking, and the thought occurred to me that perhaps, after all, Louis had emulated Socrates instead of Demosthenes. But this is a digression. Lee Inez told me that Oscar Gehrig had consoled himself for his disappointment in love by entering the army. He is continually wishing for war and talking about what a splendid target his broken hen; t will be for the enemy’s cannon. Kate Brereton, too, has suffered from Cupid’s maliciousness. Having lost her breach of promise suit against a wealthy suitor, she is trying to find consolation in teaching school. Some people say it is a good thing for her, as it gives her a chance to take her spite out on the kids. Eula Snrff and Nellie Bond have acquired a little notoriety as militant suffragettes, and Juanita Fishel writes love stories that nobody will buy. Eileen Velde Bruechner runs the Grace M. E. Church, of which her husband is pastor—and we might mention incidentally that poor Albert looks meeker than ever since he perpetrated matrimony. Flora Moeckel is teaching at the university at Wesley City. Leona Wildhack has a portable typewriter and carries it with her wherever she goes. She is reporter for the Peoria Star. Fadelia Mead, sad to sav, never recovered from the strenuous work of her senior year. She is spending her declining days in Bartonville, the unhappy victim of a strange affliction, namely, a superfluity of gray matter of the brain. Howard Brooking, our one-time president, having demonstrated the fact that it is as easy to transfer one.’s affection as it is to change the color of a garment, is now living in wedded bliss in two small rooms over his celebrated dye-house. Ilis wife, nee Delia Grossmeiler, smilingly stirs the dye while Howard dips the garments, and Oliver Losch drives their delivery wagon madly up and down the street to give the impression that business is good. I sat as in a dream while Lee Inez entertained me with the history of my old friends, and fallen the six o’clock whistle blew, scarcely heeded even its shrill note. I was back in the past, and when at last Lee Inez