Selah High School - Fruitspur Yearbook (Selah, WA)

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THE FRUIT SPUR Svvvntevu Selah High. We have fought for her and will defend her in the days to come. Fifteen Rahs for Selah High! On your feet Seniors! QIftertbnugiJt During the course of our career at Selah High our class has been repre- sented, by its members, in every activity. In fact, ability for every kind of work has been present in our class. Vivian Mueller for two years repre- sented our class by being a member of the debate team. She earned her pin both years and we know she's proud of it. Vivian has also been president of our Student Body, and a leader worth follow- ing. Many of the class have taken part in Glee Club-yes, there's almost enough musical talent in our class to have an orchestra of our own. As for athletics, we have had many lass bright and shining stars. Kenneth Hens- man and Walter Ehret have both played the position of guard on the High School team. Vivian and Mona took part in athletics a great deal. Both girls have fought hard for the Purple and Gold. Sylvia Saunders has been editor of the newspaper notes and many department ed- itors have been represented by our class. By taking part in these activities we feel we have gained a great deal of experience that has been recreational as well as bene- ficial. The Seniors of '23 will never regret the time they've spent at SELAH HIGH. mpbetp .- Merla Clark I am the daughter of the Gods, the wonder of the age. To me is given the magical power to look into thee, oh crystal, and read thy message, thy hidden knowl- edge. Respond, o jewel, respond to my pleadings, and give me your fire, your wisdom. Bring to my burning eyes pic- tures, visions of tomorrow. Bring to my eyes the fates and fortunes of the mem- bers of the class of '23, Send forth thy Spirit, oh Mystery! I wait. A spark! A flame! A blazing burst of light! Out of the ashes of thy flaming spirit comes a vision, a picture of what is to be. What vision is this? A graveyard? Oh, yes. The city of the dead. Beside the tombstone of a newly made grave kneels a sombre figure in black. It is that of a young widow beside the grave of her late husband. Her whole frame is shaken by convulsive sobs, and she repeats a name again and again in a choked whis- per. As she lifts her veil to dry her streaming eyes, I see her face. It is Beth Ambrosen, and the sorowful name which she repeats is Whither, Whitner! The scene changes. On the steps of a govemment building in Petrograd stands a woman. With shoulders thrown defiant- ly back, and head held high, she flaunts a banner for all the world to see. Coming down the street towards her is a member of the opposite sex. As she spies him, a man, a mere man, her eyes flash with scom, and her tongue, dripping with venom, flays him unmercifully. The man, mere as he is, hunches his shoulders a little higher, as if to ward off the scathing volley, and humbly walks on. The woman, who is standing as a picket in the Russian capital, is Maria Webber, as radical and

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sixteen THE FRUIT SPUR party. We had these and our party was certainly a success. Oh for another party like that one! The name junior seemed unfamiliar but before long we had adopted it and started our third year of high school with our usual amount of pep and vim. As upper-classmen we determined to be more faithful than ever. Kenneth Hensman was elected president, but he was unable to be with us the entire year. Doris Adley took Kenneth's place and her ability to fill the position exceptionally well was notice- able. A number of the boys had left school the previous year and the class was composed mostly of girls. But you know the girls usually had their own way just the same. Miss Potter did not return to teach at Selah during our ,junior year. Nevertheless, we had a class advisor through whose guiding influence we ad- vanced rapidly. Miss McKean will always be remembered by the class of '23. Mrs. Billington was another teacher who did not retum. She was our English teacher dur- ing our second year and she said she had to be honest with us and tell us how much she loved us. We also had a party at her home during our Sophomore year. Almost the entire class was there and, even if the party lasted quite late, we were wide awake all the time. Mrs. Billington's ability as hostess, we all agree, could not be surpassed. We did not give a junior play because of lack of time, but we gave a junior pro- gram that we will ever be proud of. Two class skits, entitled Playgoers and The Ghost Story, displayed the ability and talent of our class and a class song of original composition completed a success- ful program. During the performance subscriptions were taken for our first an- nual, The Fruitspurf' The program was an enjoyment, a benefit, and a help, as well. According to the practices of previous years, we knew we would have to enter- tain the Seniors. We thought a banquet would prove most enjoyable. Such a grand and glorious affair. A good feed, a dandy program, and the time passed all too quickly. We left the school to the tune of this refrain: Long Live the juniors of '23! We couldn't finish our third year of High School without a farewell party. It was a very serious occasion, our meeting together for the last time. just the same, we put all seriousness aside, as we usually do, and made our final party a rousing success. Yes, when school started again we were Seniors. Think of it--we who had only been Freshies a short time ago were now Seniors. We did our best to act dignified and be shining examples for the under- classmen, but, sorry to say, few patterned after us. Our election at the first class meeting resulted as follows: Maria Webber, presi- dentg Edward Kelly, vice-president, Alice Gross, treasurer, Mona Kelly, secretary. Miss Wakefield was chosen as our class advisor. Her winning ways, cheerful dis- position, tact and good judgment will always be remembered by the Senior class. Before long we were busy at work making our final attempt at gaining knowledge and success. During the first semester three of our faithful members, Majorie Bowers, Edward Kelly and Naides Stone had to leave school on account of illness. We felt badly but health had to be considered first and we know they will graduate in fine shape next year. We had a Hallowe'en party during the first semester of our Senior year. It was one that was different from those we had held before. The first semester passed all too quickly and before long the Senior play was in full swing. The cast did not consist en- tirely of Seniors because there were not enough boys to take the parts. The ser- vices of members outside the class were greatly appreciated. No one will ever for- get Three Live Ghosts. It was a rare comedy that was well worth remembering. The Seniors history goes to press be- fore our school year is completed. Never- theless, we're living in anticipation of an- other picnic and the glorious privilege of skip day. Time has passed all too quickly, but never will we forget the days spent at

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eighteen THE FRUIT SPUR revolutionary as ever, and on her banner flash the words: Votes for Women. What new scene is this? Oh, yesg I see the canvas auditorium of the Chatauqua circuit. The appearance of Hawaiian players and singers has been billed for this evening. The performers enter the stage, and in their midst is a girl, dark- eyed and slim, who seats herself and be- gins to play on a Hawaiian steel guitar. The girl is Alice Gross, and the way she produces the sobbing notes from the guitar would put a native-born Hawaiian to shame. Again the changing of pictures. I wait. Down the street dashes the frenzied figure of a man. With eyes wildly staring, his breath coming in gasps and arms flaying the air, he leaps madly on. Who is this fast retreating figure? Is it some desper- ate criminal making a frantic effort to escape the clutches of the law? Oh, no! I see the light. It is only Walter Ehret, Selah dog-catcher, pursuing another of his prey. What new vision is this? I see a room. From its unusual furnishings, original and artistic, I should judge it to be an artist's studio. Near a group of windows stands a large easel. In front of the easel, skil- fully wielding a brush, is a bobbed-haired girl, dressed in a blue smock. With lips parted and dark eyes shining with eager- ness, she puts the finishing strokes to a masterpiece. It is Lottie Calvert, world famous for her beautiful paintings, at work in her Paris studio. Another change? What new revelation is this? Down a plowed highway speeds an automobile like a hunted thing. Over the wheel of the fleeing car crouches the driver with a fiendish look of triumph on her face. She turns, looks backwards and beholds, far back in the cloud of dust, her outwitted pursuer. Gaily she kisses her fingertips and addresses him thus: Ta, Ta, old dear, see you later. Then, obedi- ent to the movement of her foot, the car again leaps forward. Be not alarmed. 'Tis only Doris Adley,'outwitting another speed cop. That fades and a new picture presents itself. I see a room whose fumishings bespeak comfort and luxury. Seated at a small desk is a young woman rapidly tak- ing dictation. Across the room, before an open window, stands a tense figure with arms outstretched in a touching gesture of appeal and eyes full of passionate long- ing. All the while she keeps up a rapid- fire dictation. Then, with a sweep of hungry arms, she embraces the window curtain, presses it to her bosom, and buries her face into its welcoming folds to the accompaniment of her whispered words, My love, my love. Over at the desk the young woman yawns, turns a page, and writes, ...,,....,,,,,,,....,.. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.,,,,,, , .,...,,,,,.......,,,.... The woman at the window turns. It is Louise Hoffman, well-known novelist, dictating another best seller. What new picture is this? I see a charming bungalow situated in sunny Cali- fornia. The door opens and a pretty brown-haired little woman steps out on the porch and waves gaily at the handsome chap coming down the road. Now he turns in, comes up the walk, affectionately greets the young woman and asks: Din- ner ready, Dot? Already, Ted, come on in, is the reply, and, arm in arm, Mrs. Ted Barnsley, nee Dorothy Anderson, and her husband go in to dinner. What new revelation is this? To my wondering eyes is sent a picture of the darkened interior of a large theatre. Be- hind the foot-lights stands a tense, pas- sionate figure. She is singing-rich, deep, melodious. What golden depths, what silvery heights! With one magnificent sweep of voice, one lonely, lingering trill, and the wonderful gush of melody ends. For a long moment no sound is made by the entranced audience. Then comes a roar of applause. People shout, laugh, cry, and then cheer again, all the while madly clapping. Intermingled in the clamor comes insistent cries of More! More! On the stage the singer gracious- ly inclines her head. It is Charlotte Am- brosen, prima donna and world's greatest contralto, acknowledging the applause for her ninth encore. Again a change, and again a new vision. Seated at a desk is a young woman with bobbed hair and dreamy eyes. She is