Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

Page 22 text:

THE ECHO so that it was all I could do to open the mouth. What was inside? With a desperate effort and the assistance of Hobo I finally opened it. With nervous eyes and straining ne fell out. First one LEAD United States dollar and then another lead s we both gazed at what one, and then a whole stream of them. Each and every one was punched. They were counterfeits, and probably they had come from the City Hall where they had been collected, and punched so as not to be passed on some one. We were too dismayed and crestfallen to even start to cuss, so we remained silent. Finally Hobo’s face brightened. “Gee, I bet they make dandy ‘sailers.’ I bet I can throw the first one across the crik.” I took him up and in fifteen minutes our stock of “treasure” was gone. Thus ended a perfect (?) day and another one of our many adventures. Postscript. Don’t mention treasure to Hobo if you like to live a while yet. Francis Piazzi, ’22. CALIFORNIA Oh California, well beloved thou art! America is proud to own thy name, And call thee her own child of worth and fame; For of earth’s greatest nation thou are part. The old Pacific liest near thy heart, A friend to guard thee from all woe and shame: And through the countless ages yet to famie, Be thou her watchman till all time depart. In ’40 thy wealth did draw the East And men from all the nation flocked to thee. Thou gavest them gold for which they fought and died; Thou gavest them homes, rich fields, whose fruits increased : And mountains, forests stretching to the sea. They love thee more than all the world beside. Ruth Break, ’ro.

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THE ECHO 17 “Rippin’. don't cha know. Perhaps we may run across some of his business lettahs. ‘That’d be bully, don’t cha think?” “Say, cul,’ says Hobo, rather peeved at my royal manners, and still in his best imitated dialect, “dont pull youah highbrow dope wid muh; it don’t woik, see!” Fearing to cause a diplomatic breakdown between me and Hobo [ stops. Hobo (I tell you he ain’t a dog), smiled in his superior way and we proceed to our “joint.” ‘This is a cave occupying a remote part of the creek, where Hobo and I congregate when we have raided some nearby melon patch or orchard. Here we dis- located ourselves and read some “dime novels,” Hobo trying his 4 hand at one with the very original title of “Double Crossed or the Pirate’s Last Gasp. In two gasps.’ What with the war ceasing and peace filling the world (except in Russia an’ between me an’ Hobo), it was no wonder that the editor crowded the main local news onto the third page. tere it was thar I found the following item: “The collection of ancient goid and silver coins of Mr. Thorn dyke Q. Ypsilanti (he was the millionaire who had died a few weeks before) has mysteriously disappeared. It was a known fact that Mr. Ypsilanti kept the collection, which numbered over five hundred 2old pieces and possibly seven hundred silver pieces, in a small wall safe in his study. The will of Mr. Ypsilanti discloses the fact that the collection has been bequeathed to the Western Museum of Numismatics. The Museum has offered a reward equal to the value of the gold and silver. This can be better understood when one knows that the value of the coins as relics, amounts to prob- ably $200,000, while the metal in the coins does not amount to more than $5,000.” Then it went on to say numerous other things about Mr. Ypsi- lanti, such as press agents use. You can bet, though, that when | read this I hustled out Hobo. He did not get my idea at first, but when | told him that there might be a map or sumpin’ among the letters of Mr. Ypsilanti’s which had been thrown down the dump, he was with me. I don’t think it took us a minute to get to that dump, and it is a good half-mile from our homes. Well, we rummaged and rum- maged and cussed (who wouldn’t), but nary a “dubloon” did we find. We went chrough the letters—nothin’; we dug up the ground, and still nothin’. Then I espied the fancifully decorated vase and sumpin’, maybe my sixth sense (maybe not), kinda’ made me want to take it and look at it. I lifted it, or rather I tried to. Heavy? Heavy was no name for it; so, seein’ I couldn’t open it, I broke it. Inside was a chamois skin bag. I yelled for Hobo, and he came skiddin’. With tremblin’ hands I opened my pocket knife and cut the leather thong about the mouth of the bag. My hands shook

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THE ECHO THE FACULTY (Second Award) (An Essay Modeled on The Club, from De Coverly Papers) The first of our august faculty is a gentleman of Humboldt street, a man of long standing renown, a principal; his name, the Hon. De Witt Montgomery. His forefathers were those Mont- gomerys who played so large a part in old New York’s history. All the residents of our prosperous city are ac- quainted with the abilities of Mr. Montgomery. He is a gentleman with an iron hand, but the use of it is due to his good sense, and it is wielded against his charges only as he thinks their judgment is in the wrong. However, this firmness creates him no enemies, for he does nothing with dogmatism and intolerance—faults so common to high school principals—and being unconfined to Puritanic rule makes him all the readier to please his erring students. When he is within the school building, he occupies a room known as “the office.” During his leisure hours he remains strictly at home, feeling a strong sense of duty to De Witt II and littie Anne. While in this confinement he became County Superintendent of Schools, during which time he supped with all the “shining lights” of the county. Later he became one of the vestrymen of the Episcopal church. He is in his middle age, cheerful, gay and hearty ; his school grows rapidly, his pupils look satisfied, and all profess to love him. When he comes into the hall he beams down at the scholars, and gives a kindly word to all who pass him. I must not omit that Mr. Montgomery is the high court of appeal, and lills the position with great ability and for a long time in the past has gained universal admiration by the interpreta- tion of the high school constitution. One who is in authority and esteem is Miss Frances O'Meara, a teacher of great learning in the high school, a person of indefatigable industry, strong reason and great experience. Her notions of learning are noble and generous. She is acquainted with the teaching profession in all its parts, and she will give you ample proof that the quickest and most effective way of maintaining the domination of the teachers is to make use of the study hall for the ninth period. I have heard her prove that delinquency makes a poorer student than study, and that sloth has ruined more pupils than brains. She abounds in several frugal maxims, amongst which the greatest favorite is, “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, but all play and no work makes Jack a duller boy.” 19