Rensselaer High School - Chaos Yearbook (Rensselaer, IN)

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SENIORS Class Motto — Loyalty. Class Colors — Black and Old Gold. CLASS— HISTORY Seniors, at last! How hard we have worked to attain that position. How long has been the period of our labors, and yet— how short. Why, wasn’t it just last September that we began our High School career? No, I guess it was four years ago. We were no longer eighth graders, but Freshmen, then. How long we had anticipated this first day of high school life. But when the day arrived, although we had seemingly all the courage and bravery in the world, we felt just a wee bit shaky. We were bright youngsters, however, and soon began to follow the examples set by the most worthy Seniors. We learned by the patient instruction of Miss Mallory, that x and y are unknown quantities. And, in the “lab,” what fun we had trying to raise corn in sawdust. Mr. Coe showed us how, and we certainly had an abundant harvest. W ith the help of all our teachers, and our principal and friend, Mr. Sharp, we finally earned enough credits to be called Sophomores. Strange to say, we did not notice a sudden change of atmosphere as we moved a step higher on the ladder of high school learning. But we were Sophomores, nevertheless, and we didn’t care or worrv about anything. And we surely delighted in teasing the Freshmen. Of course, we thought it was ages ago since we were in the same position, and, besides, we never could have been as green as they. One more term rolled by and brought to us the title of Juniors. Oh, how proud we were! Now, when our principal, Mr. Coe, said upperclassmen, we were included. The winter came and passed smoothly enough. When spring came, it brought with it thoughts of a large armory, beautifully decorated, with flitting figures dancing to and fro. Oh, wasn t it grand? And, to thing that we Juniors had the whole management of it, too, except that Mr. Coe hung the decorations on the ceiling for us. Then it rained, think of it, rained on that night. But what matters? There was no sign of gloom inside. Thus passed the most important event of our Junior year. The next year there were several new faces in our midst, all of whom we welcomed from the bottom of our hearts. We knew they would be good students and would be to our credit, and we also knew that they would make our “Chaos” look well. And we are all Seniors, full-fledged Seniors. What does it mean? It means that we sit in the seats next to the windows, and can look at the water-tower any time we wish, without craning our necks. But more than that, it means that onr aim and hope of four years has at last been attained, and we are graduating. But are we truly glad that this aim has been reached? I am afraid that deep down in our hearts each one of us has a feeling of regret because we are leaving the old school, our classmates and our teachers, and we are sad that we are through. But in a few years we will think back, and we will then be proud that we were members of the class that graduated from the Rensselaer High School in 1918. THELMA TILTON, Class Historian. TWELVE

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ELEVEN

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SENIOR AMBITIONS Sing a song of seniors. Of their ambitions high. Now listen to what I’ve got to say And see what they’re going to try. Jackson wants to be a farmer, One who reaps but first must sow. We’re wishing him all sorts of luck. For today the farmer makes all “the dough.” Thelma Mae will go away to school, In music to specialize. Some day she’ll be a great composer of music, that never dies. Helen Parkinson to college wants to go, But where it will be she does not know. Now, if girls were admitted, there’s no doubt at all But what she’d attend St. Joe. Thelma Tilton, a scholar wise, A student we don’t dare criticise. Has decided to become a suffragette And suffer more than ishe’s suffered yet. Elizabeth Witham, the curb -headed child. Dreamy eyes, and not the least bit wild, We’re sure, if Leonard will coax and coax, She’ll consent to move to Fair Oaks. Faustine West is going to college To learn to be a school inarm well. How she’ll ever make the kids behave Is more than we can ever tell. “Daddy, dear,” said Elizabeth King, “May I go away to school, too?” “You may, my dear,” said fond father King, “How would the Reformatory do?” Ira Huntington, the tall and wise. Stately figure and feet of good size, Will never, never give up in despair Of becoming sole lord of the famous Mt. Ayr. Paul and Harry, the crazy clowns. No doubt will meet with great renown. Although our teachers have their doubts — ? They know exactly what they’re about. Charles Halleck, our Editor-in-Chief, One in whom we have much belief, Has hopes and ambitions today Of becoming President of the U. S. A. We all will do something great. Just wait and see what comes to pass. But whatever comes, you must agree That ’18 is some class. — Bernice 0. Long, THIRTEEN