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

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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

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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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Down in Latin The principal of Court High School sat at the desk in his private office. A sharp knock on the door caused him to lift his head and call, “Come in! Oh! it’s you, Dean. What can I do for you?” The young man who had entered was tall, just missing six feet bv a very few inches, and good looking, tho’ not too much so. His face wore a very down hearted expression which did not change as he spoke. “Mr. Gavis, the coach has told me that I can ' t play in the Hartford game and I wish to speak to you about it.” “Why, how’s that Dean? I thought you were one of our strongest players.” “It isn’t that, sir; I’m down in Latin.” Oh yes, I remember. But you know our rules Dean. We must be very strict about such things. Let’s see, what were your standings?” He reached for the record and opened it. “Dean — ; Algebra 80, History 78, Latin 45 — pretty low.” “But I wanted to ask you if I couldn’t get Mr. Green to give me another examination.” I will try to help you Dean. If you can find Mr. Green bring him here please.” Dean soon reappeared with the Latin instructor following him. ‘Air. Green, Dean is down in Latin, I hear. Do you think it would be advisable to give him another test so he can play in the Hartford game?” “Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Gavis, Dean has been doing pretty poor work this year. I hardly believe he could make up so much.” “If you will give me this chance, Mr. Green, I am sure I can make it,” pleaded the young man, looking more dejected than ever. The instructor glanced inquiringly at the principal who 13