Port Huron High School - Student Yearbook (Port Huron, MI)

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Illusions of a Freshman by One Who Knows or the Fable of the Guy Who Saw the Light Too Late Once upon a Time there lived a Guy in that great north central Metropolis called Greenville, who, upon graduating from the eighth grade came to the conclusion that life in the Suburbs was a Beastly Bore and that a year or two of High School Life in the city would be an excellent rest cure, to say nothing of its Social Advantages. In view of this, the Summer months found him in the Central Pharmacy dishing out Chocolate Sundaes to the Frivolous and Fastidious of Greenville in order that he might Purchase and Flourish a greater number of hopelessly brilliant neckties than any of his future class mates. The month of September saw him luxuriously establish- ed in his palatial suite of two cells and bath at the Y. M. C. A. The next day he enrolled at school. Now this Freshman had his own ideas as to the efficacy of Work as a cure for all ills. His Conception of the Horny Hands of Toil was a calloused Thumb from turning the pages of his guide, mentor and vade mecum, the “Cosmo ' As a Lily of the field he Toiled not, neither did he Spin, He shied from Labor like Water on a Duck’s back and when ever he Found himself Scheduled for anything requiring an out put of Effort on his part, he beat a Strategic retreat that would have made a Russian general in the Early days of the War green with Professional envy. The energy he spent in avoiding Anything that had even the Outward Appearance of Work would have enabled a teacher of geometry to make her Junior Class understand the forty-seventh problem of Euclid with out more than six ex- planations and a sledge hammer. He was a living example of the Principle of the conservation of Energy. And as he Ambled aimlessly down the Primrose path of Least Resistance he fail- ed to notice that it always led Down Hill. ii

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THE TIME OF JOY If, in the records of distant ages, Or in the life of the present day, Or thru the veil of the misty future, With zeal and with courage undaunted we look, Seeking and hunting in all the world wide The time that great joy to most doth bring, Gladness and peace and great hope to mankind, Time and all History these words will sing: Joy to most men comes on Christmas Day, Joyous, merry, happy, Christmas Day ! Then thru the clouds of the thousand ages, Then shines the sun of a perfect day; Then thru the storms of the living people Comes there a pause in the work or play. Peaceful and joyful in all our hearts wide, The day we discover most joyous to man, And ever to men seeking the day of great joy, Time and all History these words will sing: Joy to most men comes on Christmas Day, Joyous, merry, happy, Christmas Day! —GRACE DONALDSON, ’17. Tourist (at Rritii h Museum) — “Have you no skull of Cromwell ?” Guide — “No, sir ’ Tourist — “How very queer, there is a tine one at Oxford.” “How can I keep my feet from going to sleep ?” “Don’t let them turn in.” Freshman — “Say, I wonder how the deaf mutes would know when there was a tire in their school?” Carl Smith — “Why they would ring the dumb-bells, of course !” 10

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Not that he was Wooden. He might have been a live wire if he Hadn’t had so much Resistance. He had the Rep. of being a Savoir in his Home Town. He merely suffered from Hysteresis of the Brain. His intellect was Mildewed from Lack of Exercise, for you don’t have to think to read the “Cosmo” you know. That is only a form of Disease and he had never been Vaccinated with the Serum of Common Sense. At least, if he Had, it never took. No mere Myers’ Ancient History could come be- tween him and his Geo. Barr McCutcheon. When the fall term was well on its way he gave it the Once over and said, “Fruit, My line of Bull will see me through. I’ll make the Faculty crawl upon its knees and eat out of my Hand. There ain’t that teacher living that I can’t Bluff for a 75.” Wherein he showed that he wot not of what he Spake. October he boned not at all, and, dunked hopelessly in Algebra. November, he boned a little more and failed in a couple of other Subjects. December, he began to See the Chirograph} on the Wall and considered the Late Lights Prop- osition. But the teachers were Wise to his Kind; they had his Number and gave him the Thumbs down. January, the review month, was a Straw for the drowning Boob to clutch, but he couldn’t fill the Vacuum it took Four months to create. In the mid-vear exams Some one hit him A’ith a Codfish ball, Soon his trunk and Satchel were in the hall, Soon he paid his “Y” bill at the Secretary’s desk and Soon a little P. M. train was carrying him west. And now he is jerking Sodas at $5.00 per. Moral: — A week of Boning in September is worth six in January. —DOROTHY DUNCAN, ’17. “Bridget, why did you let that policeman kiss you?’’ “It’s against the law to resist an officer, ma’am.” 1 2