Seaside High School - Sea Breeze Yearbook (Seaside, OR)

Page 15 text:

OUR FACULTY Miss Ware, our Commercial Teacher, Is a bird, I say; For she teaches like a preacher All the livelong day. Mr. Lovett, the short guy down below, Gives us lessons each morn, And the way he makes us work Makes us wish we were never born. Miss Perkins teaches English, And also the way to write— She bawls us out five times each week And tells us we’re a fright. Miss McKay, the modest little teacher, Teaches English much to her own delight, And if we fail to get our lessons She makes us stay all night. The joy of the world is M. C. Gaston, The Prof. of the S. U. High: Some day perhaps he’ll own a Ford— And then he’ll be some guy. G. M. T., Ex’l19. — 9—— ADVICE FROM AN UNOBSERVED OBSERVER Flutter, flutter, little heart; Don’t that soldier think he’s smart. Look, the flirt, he winked at me; Babble on, oh, Dorothy. Dorothy is filled with pride; Thinks she’ll be a soldier’s bride. Never mind, you still are wrong; You won’t die, if you do get stung. Little frosh, you surely know, That where’er the soldiers go, They don’t try to flirt with you; You're too young; you'll never do. Of course, the one with the big brown eyes, Who’s fifty-five (and no one lies), Would like to take a child to raise, About your size, of course, he says. So run along, and do not fail, When next you try to catch a male, Don’t wear your hair in a little pig-tail. Amen! A toast to the class of June ’19 from a Junior who is passing into the class of 718. Tho’ the days have long since passed, I recall with ease the scene, At the somewhat irregular meetings Of our class in sweet ’16. There’s Nell with gavel in hand, Calling in vain for order; Beside her, Pearl, with pen in hand, Acting as class recorder. The class before them clamours and howls, Intent on work and fun. Many a battle, with smiles and scowls, They’ve duly fought and won. “Let’s have a party,” says Naomi, “With games and lots of eats; “Where’ll we get the money?” Cries Parker, our treasurer sweet. Then Billy, all jokes and jests, Produces a general roar; “Order!” yells our president, “You kids do make me sore.” Those were the days, days of bliss! The best days ever seen. And here’s to the class of classes, To the class of June ’19. (6) FAVORITE SAYINGS Can’t be done. Oh, Joy! Harry Spath: Doris Haley: Frank Parker: Why not? Bill Olson: I don’t know. Elvera Miller: By Gosh. Elizabeth H: Ain’t she queer? Aster More: Huh? Geneva C: Bluey, bluey. Eva Tyberg: Oh, Goodness! Edna Fuller: Oh! Help! James Miller: Tee, hee! Myrtle Button: Oh, Shoot! 0 SEVEN WONDERS OF OUR SCHOOL Myrtle’s red hair. Geneva’s gentle voice. Dorothy’s wonderful stories. Marie C.’s latest fashions. Howard’s wonderful dimples. Mr. Lovett’s wonderful walk. Elvera’s great beauty.

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THE FRESHMAN’S FATE (Based on Fact) There was a goodly Freshman Come strolling down the lane, Filling the air with beauteous song At sound of which few men go wrong. Behind a bush three Sophomores, All three intent on crime, Await this goodly Freshman, With murderous design. They seized upon the fair youth, And round his face they tied A great big red bandana, And then the Freshman cried. He wept, and at his bitter tears, The Sophmores leapt with glee, For to those murderous villains, ’Twas a goodly sight to see. They bore him to a barrel, Half filled with mud and slime; (You do not know how hard it is To make this poem rhyme.) One took his hands and one his feet, The other took the rear To see that some professor Did not come and interfere. They soused the poor young Freshman Up to his nose and eyes. This mode of torture seemed to take The Freshman by suprise. For as he touched the liquid He struggled, screamed and hissed, And finally got up courage To shake his brawny fist. Pf oelry The Sophs now turned the Freshie loose— The Freshie, once more free, Ran swiftly to the teacher, And told upon the three. The teacher, then against the Sophs, His righteous wrath did hold— First paddled till his arm gave out, Then ended with a scold. Now to the worthy Sophomores, Some good advice I’ll give When next a Freshman bold you catch, Why, do not let him live. And to the Freshies, small and wee, I would advise once more: Never to travel all alone, But go in three and four. Oo——- “TO MAKE A MODEL TOWN OF SEASIDE.” Knock all the pep out of the village, Pinch our “pond” for disturbing the peace, For tossing and bounding intently, When our mayor has told it to cease. Make the elements snow in the sum- mer, And the sun to go off to it’s bed, Then lock in the jug every evening, His Highness, Old Tillamook Head. Pull the man who wears rain clothes, when the rain falls; Send the beach off to some warmer clime— That’s the means Seaside, A fine model town for all time. which will make

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The following is a little poem sub- mitted for your approval by a Junior. The title of this is: ‘‘There was nitro- gycerin in the Billy Goat’s Mush.” Softly down the hallway fleeting, Went the Freshies to their meeting; ’Twas a motley crowd of girls and boys Creating an unusual lot of noise. On the board was no announcement Of a meeting of any kind; But there was an understanding of its occurrence In each little Freshie’s mind. The meeting was begun With the President in the chair; But it wasn’t called to order As there was no order there. Sweeter than Aeolian babblings, In that sunny land of drouths, Were the tintinabulations Of their automatic mouths. How they loved their gurgling guzzles, How they loved their fluent flow; How they loved to wind them up, How they loved to let them go. Each one talking to the other Caused the President untold bother; Till all order from their thots ad- journed, So homeward they their footsteps turned. Hark, ye verdant Freshmen, That you may make your class car- eer sublime, And, departing, leave behind you, A party on the sands of time.—The end. ——0———- Little words of wisdom, Little words of bluff, Make the mighty teachers Say “Sit down; enough!” —o-——— Lives of Seniors all remind us We can strive and do our best, And, departing, leave behind us, Note books that will help the rest. Our treasurer, the ever hopeful, Was waiting for dues in vain, When a green little Freshie approach- ed her— She was sure of material gain. But alas! the Freshie, desponding Of her lesson in History One, Had come to our treasurer, seeking Help from the bigger gun. Next came a Sophomore. Oh! Horror! That class with their love of Ego; But at last she departed, still debtor, With an Algebra problem. O! O! Suddenly our treasurer straightened, She smiled, an encouraged one, For a classmate approaching her Had quite a business look on. But this time ’twas only to borrow, That the Junior had made his call, But our treasurer was saved from sorrow, By the Senior who saw it all. 10% Joh. Alby —— (9 The Juniors give a Prom; The Seniors, a reception in return; Then the Freshies call a meeting, But no outcome can we discern. How cruel that such criticism Be accorded the Freshman class, For their efforts to conduct a meeting, And their semblance to green grass. Yea, how cruel that so many poems and chaffing Be written of the Frosh, But some must bear the brunt of life, Then why not them, B’gosh? oO It seems to me that I’ve heard said, The Union High School has gone quite dead! But hear ye all, and know by this, It has not reached eternal bliss. Oh, No! Nor yet has gone the other way, But hear from it you will, some future day. —— o-—-—— Doris had a little lamb, With fleas as white as snow; And every where that Doris went Those fleas they had to go.