Prairie Du Chien High School - Blackhawk Yearbook (Prairie Du Chien, WI)

Page 25 text:

 FIRST BASE BALL TEAM FIRST ROW KIESER. 3 B; SCMWEIGER. L F; ALLEN, 2 B; BIELOM. S S SECONO ROW HALPIN, R F; BRUCHMANN. I B. GUNDERSON. HURLEY. SUB; SCHWARTZ. C F. THIRD ROW WACHTER. C, KELLER. P CAPT.

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PRAIRIE DU CHIEN Miss Green gave roll call now and then, which was readily responded to by a “present” from each one. Nine-thirty found the tired and rain-bedraggled, but jubilant travelers in good old P. D. C. again, none the worse off for the day’s outing and certainly happy. M. H. THE CLASS OF 1911 IN 1925. In the summer of 1925 I went to Prairie du Chien to revisit the scenes of my school days. I strolled, as if by chance, into a second-hand store (which had come into existence just before I left Prairie in 1912.) My attention was drawn to a pile of dusty books which lay on a nearby counter. I picked one of them up, but almost dropped it again, for to my amazement the book actually began to speak. It began to speak in faint words and said that it had greatly pitied its former owner who had always sat up until the wee small hours of the night, pouring over its pages in a vain effort to master its contents. It said he had kept up for two years but that it did not know if he had done so because of his delight in its company or whether he had kept it for some other reason. It wfent on to say that he had often said something about “flunked again,” and it believed this must have had something to do with his keeping it so long. It said that judging from his remarks he believed his former owner was at the present time, the proprietor of a drug store located somewhere among the triangles and parallelopipeds of Chicago. After it had finished the story I brushed off the dust and found that the book was a Geometry and of the same edition as the one I had used when a Junior in Prairie du Chien High School in 1910. I opened the book and found the name “Roy Hurley” written on the first page, in large letters. This excited my curiosity and I wondered if the other books would tell me the fate of my other schoolmates. The next book I picked up was rather large and it also had a story to tell. It said its former owner had not used it exclusively for the purpose it had been intended for. It said she had used the back pages for copying down all the recipes she was able to acquire, such as candy, cookies, cakes, bread and the like. It went on to say that one of her girl friends had asked why she did this and she replied, “Oh, I think I’ll have use for them before long.” It said that it had not been able to find out if she had made use oi them or not, but that it rather thought she had, as she had learned each recipe by heart, and didn’t need the book any more. I opened the book and found that it had been Bertha Brown’s English Literature Note Book, and this much had I learned of another of my classmates. The next bock I picked up was very m uch smaller than the others. It said the one who had owned it before it came to its present home had bt'en a very polite person. It said he would never think of contradicting a teacher and that he had thought its author, Edmund Burke, would have been a very fine fellow if he hadn’t written that “Conciliation with the Colonies.” I brushed off the dust and found that the book I held was “Burke’s Conciliation with the Colonies,” and the name on the first page was Martin Cornica. I asked the book if it knew where that remarkably polite little fellow was at the present time. It said he was busy writing a book named “A Conciliation with My Teachers.” The next book complained bitterly of its mis-shapen condition, which it said had been caused by the many notes which its former owner had kept among its pages. I asked it if it knew where that personage was and it replied that it did not know, but it believed the next book, a more recent arrival, could give me the information I desired. I questioned it and it said it had overheard its former owner say she had received a letter from Montana from Helen Wallin, who, by the way, was the owner of the previous book which I later found to be Virgil’s Aeneid. She said she liked the distant country well enough, only she didn’t think the Post Office clerks out there were nearly as nice as those in Prairie du Chien. She said that she was expecting one from Prairie du Chien to come there soon and she knew when he arrived all would be well. That letter had been written some years before and I suppose that by this time another one from Prairie du Chien has gone to Montana, too. If this is the case I know Helen is happy, and so one more of my schoolmates is accounted for. The next book that I picked up said it had been rather disgusted with its previous owner, for, although it had been in her hands for several years, she had never