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

Page 25 text:

PRAIRIE DU CHIEN From times immemorial, mad poets have raved Of fair flaxen ringlets that victims enslaved, If all this is true, it really does seem, That Edith can offer all poets a theme. Just one word or seven 'bout Leo, our Bunnie A real likely chap, with antics so funny. Say without malice, he’s “athletic crazy,” While his notions in class are often quite hazy. There are times in our lives, we can try as we may, We simply can’t word the fine things we would say. ’Tis the case with bright Anna; in all likelihood, She’s the real combination of everything good. When our good Lord and Maker, in His kindness saw To place in this world a long, slim, lanky bit Of mischief and fun; we have one who will Yes, our innocent Maurice will sure fill the bill.'5' A wee sunny lassie, so bright, and so gay With a coquetting smile, and a flirtatious way, With a color in her cheeks, that comes and then goes, I’m speaking of Susan, as everyone knows. When old-fashioned Plato, the wisest of men, Lived 'midst the sage Greeks, he little knew, then, That his name and his fame would fast melt away When philosopher Jones’ bright learning held sway. My brain’s mental picture now brings to my view A boy, who just thinks he’s bad through and through. Stacky's the lad, with the self-blaming notion, Whose presence suffices to cause a commotion. I’ve read in the pages of Sir Walter Scott Of a girl, who reminds me so much of our Dot. Dorothy Baker and her sweet Angel smile Would cause e’en a hermit to linger a while. This girl can’t sit still, she squirms and she wriggles And then, perhaps laughs; I almost said giggles. We call her our Helen; it’s Bridget for short, A winsome, bright lass of the very best sort.

Page 24 text:

HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL Junior Class form. The class of T5—Juniors—worthy of fame, So renowned, in fact, that its members I’ll name, Whose make-up’s so varied, and different and fine, That each of these people is deserving a line. I see Mae with her grin, her Stenog. and her wit, And her clever remarks which make such a hit. In whispering and buzzing she holds a high station. Her face,—not her name—tell us her nation. Then there is May me, with ringlets of brown, Who reads or studies, and ne’er wears a frown. She looks up sometimes to give someone a smile— But never does she walk up and down the aisle. Another, who’s active, and quick, an athlete, With whom, even in class work, few can compete. “Kunnie” he’s called by most of the boys, And with them he partakes of Basket Ball Joys. Then, too, in this class is a wee little Copper, Her mark in each class, it is sure a whopper! She loves much to read,—books made just “for girls” And is always busy, this Junior with curls. So small and so tiny, is our Beatrice Speck Whose head, golden ringlets always bedeck— The look of a child beams forth from her eyes, In whose depths is the color of summer’s skies. We know from the Bible that Peter’s a rock. A rock, we are taught, can withstand any shock; It is stubborn, unyielding and cannot be rent, As a rock, so our Peter’s will cannot be bent.

Page 26 text:

HIGH SCHOOL ANNUAL She’s a mild-mannered maid, with a mild-mannered air, She’s neither real dark, nor is she real fair; Fulfilling her duties in a calm, quiet way, Myrtle is better at work than at play. By beauty and grace, Irene is our Queen. Such stately aloofness, how calm and serene; She wears her distinction with a dignity rare, Dignity becoming a beauty so fair. The Isle of Old Erin, the home of the Dutch, With thought and good judgment has given us such As Arthur McCloskey, to grace our brave class. We know that he’s Irish, so we’ll let him pass. Next enters the hero with a bow and a grin, A regular man is our Ralph, Mister Glenn. Who follows the fashions in hats or in boots, And has any number of up-to-date suits. Now, Nettie is studious, is quiet and demure, She ne’er lifts her eyes from her books, I am sure; They say she is bashful; I’m sure I don’t know. But what if she is, we were all better so! The name of the poet, I now can’t recall, Who said, “Better late, than never at all.” Perhaps Evalyn Weighner is able to tell, For she surely follows his counsel quite well. He’s short and so little, but then you all know, Like other great men, he’s liable to grow. But why should Dean worry, between me and you, Was not Napoleon a wee five foot two? Art Schwert came to school as an expert soil-tiller, With scarce any rep. as a fond “Lady-Killer” But wonder of wonders, just watch the lad now; Ask our friend Arthur, to please show you how. Last but not least comes Clarence, our Chancy; A basket ball artist, both clever and fancy. He loafs often times: and studies a bit, But he never was meant to be a great wit. Alice Stuart.