Sheridan High School - Syllabus Yearbook (Sheridan, IN)

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 THE SYLL ABUS The scene faded and was succeeded by another. This time it was a great theatre scene in New York City. The curtain rose and onto the stage danced Martha White. The troupe that followed proved to be none other than the famous Follies of 1940. The scene shifted to that of a farm house, west of Sheridan, which I recognized as one in which 1 stayed many, many times. A figure, approaching from the barn was whistling airly, while behind him tiipped a couple of healthy youngsters. In this figure I recognized my old chum, Buck Fancher, apparently well satisfied with himself and his farm. The next was that of a large mansion on North Meridian street in Indianapolis, Indiana. A red-haired nurse was busily engaged in watching over three small children playing in the yard. The nurse, when she looked up, proved to be Ethel Fleetwood. I was then transported by the screen to a garage in a small town in Southern Arizona. There I saw “Sub” Hiatt, the proprietor, at work on the motor of a huge Lincoln sedan, while at the same time keeping up a steady stream of conversation with the owner. She turned and I beheld in her another member of the old class, Marty Hood. The work finished, she entered her car and whirled off towards the west. Before she was enveloped in a cloud of Arizona dust I perceived, scrawled on the back of the car in large letters, the words, “Reno to Bust.” A Paris studio followed. The '.vails were covered with beautiful oil paintings, from a number of which hung prize ribbons. In the center of the room, with back toward me, stood the artist busied with palette and brush. I knew him at once to be Page Brown, the artist of the 1926 Syllabus. A tent theatie, the signs of which proclaimed it to be the last and only troupe presenting that historic old play “Uncle Toms Cabin,” flashed upon the screen. A slight golden haired figure was playing the childs part of “Little Eva.” In this figure I recognized Rosanna Vickery. The gentleman playing “Simon Legree” I at ones recognized as a prominent member of the class of ’25. Wondering at the remarkable luster still retained by Rosanna’s hair, I was enlightened by a peep into her dressing room. There on the table sat four bottles labeled as “Moreland’s Magic Golden Glo Restorer;” guaranteed to restore that golden girlish luster to the reddest of hair. The next scene solved the mystery of the “Golden Glo Restorer.” Seated at a desk in a large laboratory in Toledo, Ohio was Charles Moreland. He was supervising the making of his fortune by a force of men engaged in filling bottles, similar to those on Rosanna’s table, with a liquid of Moreland’s own formula. Having turned chemist, Moreland had done great things in that field, but had finally, settled on this one method of obtaining wealth. Then beheld a large auditorium filled with women of excessive weight. In the slim girlish figure lecturing to them I had some difficulty in recognizing Mary Alice Brandenburg. Mary Alice had spent the ten years following her graduation experimenting with many different methods of reducing, but had finally settled on a method of her own with the above results. She had, as I found, for the past years been lecturing far and wide proving her method a boon to all people of stout qualities. The scene next to be displayed for me was in the stately Senate Hall. There in the middle of an eloquent oration opposing Senator Blue Beak’s Bill abolishing the one piece bathing suit for bathing beauties, I found Fred Davis. Fred, owing to his great popularity among the women, had recently been elected Senator from Flor.da on the Womens Party Ticket. (pajre twenty-five)

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T HE S Y L L A B U S - 1 926 Class Prophecy r- a light snow way falling over the city as 1 emerged from my study one evening m Ni Ov the early spring of 1040. I had had a most strenuous day and now, starting out on my daily walk, my mind was filled with thoughts of fourteen years before. I was thinking of the good times had in old Sheridan High School when I was a boy; wondering what had become of all my old class. Walking briskly, deeply absoibed in my thoughts, I had traversed quite a distance before 1 thought to notice my surroundings. Looking about I perceived that 1 was in a most dilapidated appearing section of the city and almost twelve blocks from home. The street was flanked with rambling old brown stone fronted edifices, from one of which, at times, issued a stiange and weird noise. I was well informed concerning this house and the reported causes of the strange noise. The house was occupied by a strange old man, known as Dr. Zienkler, who claimed to own a piece of apparatus by means of which he could project the actions of any person, at any place, on a screen. It was this machine which made the strange noises I had heard. The old man had refused to sell his invention but had capitalized on it by using it to display the actions of criminals, relatives, friends, etc. to those who were willing to pay his fee. I had never placed much faith in the reported truthfullness of his radioprojections, but it seemed as if it had led me to this place as a means of satisfying my desire for knowledge of my boyhood friends. I approached and lifted the knocker of the ancient door. The door was opened noiselessly and I entered, to my surprise, a large and luxuriously furnished room. After a short interval I was ushered into another spacious room of Oriental furnishings and smelling for all the world like one of those temples one inevitably visits when in Calcutta. On one wall was a laige silver screen, while the wall directly opposite was covered with a heavy black drape. In direct contrast to this piece of the Orient was the little old German sitting behind a large table apparently busily engaged in doing nothing. Asked my desire, I informed the little old man it was my wish to view the occupations and whereabouts of my former classmates. I was instructed to write the name of each of the class of 1026 on a pad and then sit in a large chair opposite the screen. This I did and the old man, picking up the pad, disappeared through a small side door. Soon the room was filed with that same weird noise, apparently proceeding from behind the drape. A light flickered on the screen. Instantly the room was plunged into darkness and a picture flashed across the silver sheet. It was that of a great office building in Chicago. A tall dark man was seated at a desk, busied wirh a large file of papers. He looked up. Could it be possible? Yes it was. It was our old class President and friend, Bud Kercheval. The door opened and a woman, whom I recognized as a member of the class of ’28, accompanied by a small boy, entered. The small boy immediately accosted Bud as “Daddy.” On the panel of the door I perceived the inscription, International Harvester Co., General Manager. Qmge twenty-four)

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THE SYLLABUS ♦'r This was followed by a scene in the lobby of the same building. Ruth McKinzie, in mannish attire, was laboring day and night lobbying in behalf of a Woman’s Equal Rights amendment which she diligently advocated since the day she first read of such a movement in a copy of the Literary Digest in 1926. The next was indeed a sad scene to me. Pacing back and forth behind the bars of cell 1,507 of the new Indiana State Prison was Darwin Deer. I learned from a second scene that Darwin, in a fit of jealousy, while shaving his rival in love, had attempted to disfigure that person. For this crime he had received a ten year sentence, now almost completed. Then followed the earnest face of a Salvation Aimy Lass pleading with the surrounding crowd to aid in Gcd’s cause. I recognized her to be Jewell Farwick. A five chair barber shop on Indiana Ave., Indianapolis, Ir.d. was now on the screen. At the first chair wedding his scythe, was Harry Darnell, evidently the proprietor. Harry had forsaken college football for this less strenuous method of inflicting injury on his adversaries. The next scene was in the heart of far off Africa. I sawr Ruth Hodson as a missionary engaged in attempting to teach the black natives of a large village the rudiments of civilization. A scene in sunny Florida followed. I beheld Ben Miller strolling about the spacious grounds of his own mansion at Palm Beach. Ben had gone south on graduating, speculated wildly in Floridan real estate, and won. He w'as now enjoying the fruits of his labor. I then saw Harriet Homey in her home near Hortonville, Ind. Harriet was leading the life of a spinster and seriously objected to the extremely short dresses of the girls. To aid in downing this vice she had organized an Ankle Skirt League among the elder women of the country who advocated and wore that relic of 1914. Ralph Kincaid was next. Ralph had joined the army in 1938. Having always had a fancy for writing humorous sketches, he had written one of these one day and was reading it to some of his comrades in the barracks when a passing officer, overhearing a part of it not altogether complimentary to himself, had deemed it a case of insubordination and sentenced Ralphie to two weeks on bread and water. This, he w-as serving. Treva Copeland I saw on a lecture of the country. She had taken up politics and was now employed by the Republican party to aid, w-ith her lectures, in their attempt to regain the Executive control they had lost in 1928. A picture of the Farmers National Bank in Sheridan next presented itself before me. Behind the window bearing the inscription “Teller” was Myron Hinshaw. Myron had begun as a clerk and risen to his present position. An aesthetic dancing class in southern California was next. A group of young maidens were attempting an interpretation of the “back to nature” dances while their teacher, in whom I recognized Coreta Shull, w’as busily engaged in showing them how and correcting their mistakes. Lawrence Bannon, lecturing to the class of Evolution recently established at Harvard University, was next on the screen. Lawrence, wrhile investigating his family tree, had become an enthusiastic convert to the Darwinian Monkey-To-Man Theory and was now preaching it far ar.d wide with great success. I then saw Margaret Rawlings in Monte Carlo lavishingly spending the fortune of (pagf2 twenty-six)