Selah High School - Fruitspur Yearbook (Selah, WA)

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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

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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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THE FRUIT SPUR nineteen writing furiously, and the midnight oil bums low. Now she heaves a huge sigh of relief, gathers up her writing materials, and is about to depart. The young woman is Sylvia Saunders, editor of the Selah Valley Optimist, writing an editorial on The Use of Eyes. Another vision? What portrayal is this? I see a vast hall-the senate cham- ber. ln the midst of this great assemblage of men stands a lone woman, eloquent and forceful. lt is Vivien Mueller, woman senator, delivering a speech in Congress urging the adoption of a bill for the reduc- tion of the high cost of loving. This scene changes. I see the interior of a huge tabernacle. On the platform is a f'ure, fiery, tense and full of entreaty. He is delivering a sermon, a sermon whose awful persuasion and woeful wam- ings would soften the hard heart of a Spanish buccaneer. It is Rev. Donald Fogelquist, world's leading evangelist, whose eloquence and oratorical powers have made him even superior to Billy Sunday. lt is rumored that his ability as a great speaker was first recognized, when, as a student of Selah High School, he used to do his stunt in French class. Now that vision fades. There glides into my range of sight the porch of a pretty bungalow. Seated in a slowly mov- ing porch swing are two people-a man and a maid. lt is a very pretty little love scene. The man gently steals his arm around the girl, and she snuggles willingly into the hollow of his arm and breathes a contented little sigh of happiness. Yvonne, my dearest Yvonne, breathes the man, bending down to kiss the dark, sleek head. Oh, you dumbell! Can't you kiss her like you meant it? Now, do it over again, storms the exasperated director. Oh, do it right this time, please, sighs the girl. All right, Miss Coleman. Sorry, replies the man, and Mary, world's greatest motion-picture actress, moves away from his arms and they prepare to do it all over again. Now there stretches before my vision a huge stadium, in which is being played a woman's championship game of baseball. A dark-haired girl, a fine athletic type, steps up to the plate and coolly waits for a ball. Presently a swift one is sent her by the pitcher and the girl, keenly alert, deals it a well-directed blow which sends it flying. A mighty cheer is sent up by the crowd, and Mona Kelly, famous woman ballplayer, and intemationally known as Lucky Strike, adds another home run to her record. What new vision is this? What glitter and what blare? Oh, yes! The vision clears, and I behold that the Camival, the city of canvas and bunk, has come to town. ln front of one of the tents, a large one with the word Extravaganza printed in blazing electric letters above it, is a man with a megaphone, who shouts out information as to this most gorgeous, this most wonderful show which starts in just one minute, ladies and gentlemen. A curious crowd gathers. Behind the man a door opens and reveals to light the most gorgeous vision of grease paint and tawdry trappings ever beheld. Then begins a movement, or rather a series of move- ments, tenuous, tortuous and twistly. The crowd starts, open-mouthed. Somebody makes an exclamation. My word! he gasps., Nathalie Tyrrell, l'll be bound! And-so it is. Mlle Tyrrell, world famous for her extravagant interpretation of the hitches and twitches of the Extrava- ganzaf' But that picture is erased. My crystal reveals to me a girl seated at a piano, playing. She bobs up and down and keeps her shoulders in a constant state of wriggly agitation, in accordance with the music. Hush! A peculiar sound comes to my ears. Can it be music? lt sounds more like Mr. Shaffer's description of jazz-a buzz saw going through a keg of ten-penny nails. lt is jazz! Now I see it all. lt is Leona Grignon, world's leading jazzist, playing over the radio. What new realm of vision is this which greets my inquiring eyes? To me is re- vealed a hall in the very modern and up- to-date Selah High School. At one end is an open door, leading into an office. Coming from the room are voices. Some- one, a woman, is speaking in a strangely familiar voice. Where were you sent down from ? she asks. Now comes the reply. I was sent down from French I