South High School - Sohian Yearbook (Akron, OH)

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TI-IE SO HI AN 1930 I Y4XI.UIiS I want to he an Indian! .Xnd, if please, should my soul be suffered transnligration, Do give it lodging in the heart of a youth- ful, strong, and carefree Indian. You know the kind-a lliawatha. There must he Nokomis and the moon, The stars, the trees, and flowers, The birds, the deer, The rivers and lakes, and-llinnehaha. Traitorl you cry. Then do you start a veritable eulogy Ot life, and great and noble deedsg Of citizenship: of progressg Thence of knowledge-oh, oh, stop! That word progress, it overpowers the senses Like a hypodermic shot. The head a sinking meteor Severed, it leaps and bounds Through strange and heavy atmospheres. The breath comes hard in long and wheez- ing gasps. The eyes squint dully at a soiled and sooty Sky. .X grimy, greased-up garden-was that Eden? Knowledge. Science. These the swords You dangle at my face while so you taunt, 'Petty dreamer, still you yearn for false ephemeral worlds? You seek for wonder, blind you are when Iron-sheathed giants that meet the sky With thousand gleaming eyes at night Do scorn and mock the Parthenon. Yet have you but begun. I shrink and shrivel, shamed. But I did want the clear blue sky, the God in Indian days, The deep, blue dimitied bosom of the heavens Bereft of haggled silken robes, You see 'twas but a dreamg How dared I give it voice? Deep in my soul, a whisper, yet I want to be an Indian! -IRENE SALA1, 12-JI. SONGS The babbling brook is free again To travel on its way, And meadow larks are back again XVith songs so sweet and gay. I think if I could be a bird NVithin C,3od's leafy world, l'd sing and sing of nothing else But spring and liowers unfurled. Innes GREIQNLEIE, ll-.-X. Tllli R.-XG MAN He has a beard and his clothes are old: His shoes are worn and full of holes: His wagon makes a lot of noise Like a gang of mischievous boys: His call is heard throughout the street Soft as sound of shuflling feet. iPETIiIQ IVIAKZTIS, io-R. THE EARLY IIIRD Xlhen Father takes his spade to dig, Then Robin comes along: Ile sits upon a little twig .Xnd sings a little song. Ur, if the trees are rather far, Ile does not stay alone. llut comes up close, where we are, ,Xnd hops upon a stone. -Bl.'XRGlfRY Zrrmiilc, IO-B. ITERHAPS If I had been an Indian Wvay back in '76, I would have had a camp-fire Made of many sticks. And when the white man came with guns .-Xnd billowy wagons white, I would have taught him how to fish, .-Xnd thought him quite all right. I would have shown him how to hunt And swimi and when he felt That I was mild, perhaps I might Have tied his scalp to my belt. -EYELYN ITOOVIER, 11-A. M Y WORLD lYhen skies are blue and balmy And soft the breezes blow, And the birds are warbling gaily- That is the world I know. I walk through fields enchanted Of beauty ever rare, Through wondrous miles of grass and leaf .Xnd know no woe or care. Ile have a thought to ponder On how this came to be. From the Keeper-of-all-things, far above, It seems quite clear to me. ANDREW REISINGER, 10-B. I should love to be an artist, And have wings to Hy the air Until I found a pretty spot To paint a picture fair. There I would paint a masterpiece- .-X masterpiece so rare That every one would marvel At the colors glowing there. -FERNE Sromnwcon, IO-Id. page hundred eighteen

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THE SOHIAN 1930 .7 -wwwqzzufxv e t . I., QM A no og. X -. ' gf ..,,....t......,..--..,,...,l........... ' on ,I, Q., A- V , ww 1 J ef. -at r w- J ' 'Q A it pf-1 W, I xp N, ,Q WW! F 1. , A XI, .Yi-V 5.-A .. t,.y.fr--3 ex UW by K ,, - ',, x 4,5 H ' -H tva wiwazi 2 , 5 1 ' I Eff wk ' I' xl - i t ' 212 73591131 1 XI' wlnrixo il' It seems so long till summer comes, That's how it seems to me. lt seems so long a time to wait Till I again can elnnb a tree. b Licwls H12r.r1e1eH. 10-B. YOU AND I FRIENDS If I had been an Indian, Long, long ago, l'd made a swing high in a tree, And rocked me to and fro. I'd have roamed the cool dark woods With my small knife and my bow, And shot at knots and pine-cones, :Xnd sealped my own shadow. And explored the chattering streams In my bark canoe: .Xnd for a companion, l'd have called to you. Then would you have Come with me Long. long ago? Ur would you have laughed at me? How can I ever know? I.L'CILI.l-Z li,xHr.ok, 10-B. AN INDII-XN'S SUM MER If l had been an Indian, With my roof the star-lit sky, I Could have watched the summer nights Go slipping slowly by. I'd have sat and listened To the hum and drone of bees, And watched the morning sunlight Come sifting through the trees. Axnv IUIIEHBI, ll-A. Tllll HUNTER lf I had been an Indian And walked the forest paths. l'd not have killed the deer and bear- Nor shot the little rabbit there. The deer and bear I'd left unharmed Where l, the Indian. went, lint I'd have made a garden .Xround my peaceful tent. Uris F.-XRKIER. 10-B. One night alone at loss I mused And looked upon the books unused. Red and green and brown and buff, Rows and rows of useless stuff! I weakened, and I took a book Which only time had ne'er forsook. And lo, he took me hand in hand: I joined that carefree vagabond band. Vfe took the king's money. we 'took the kings deer, We would give it to others, then disappear. My eyes were clear, my legs were strong, Life came, life went-a beautiful song. Our domain was as Richards and the earth, the sky, We plundered together, fair Robin and I. -Romain' I'llVNOR. 10-A. AIR CASTLES I want to be an aviator And sail the skies above, jsust to be a navigator .Xmong the things I love. I want to meet the sun and moon When I go sailing highg And perhaps a little star or two- glxnd bring back from the sky .X bit of blue for a summer gown, A cloud for a scarf and hat, And skim the Cream from the milky way To please my Maltese cat. View Kllxsox, 10-B. A HYXIN The untired sun from day to day Does his Creator's power display: And shows to those in every land The work of an Almighty Hand. -IQLMER H URBARD, 10-IZ. page lzzmdred vt t mzfemz

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-fr H E S ovH IgAggljlg b19g30 MY PET Bobby is a pretty canary, with feathers gold as the sun and black as the night. In his cage, this happy little songster hops about from perch to perch the whole day through. Hihen I am about, Hobby refuses to sing much unless I talk to him. Sometimes l count for him. He sings when l say two or three after a series of numbers. On cloudy days, there is only one cure for Bohbys drowsiness. :X few turns of the egg- beater makes him angry and then he sings. His singing is missed so much that I have worn out two egg-heaters in this way. Bobby takes up entirely too much time. Unless someone holds it for him, he refuses to eat lettuce or celery. Perhaps he has grown accustomed to this attention, or maybe it just pleases his vanity. .-Xnyway it is hard to refuse the mute appeals of such a loyalile creature. I am sorry to say that Hobby does not have any manners. Even though he has been told it is impolite. he still persists in making a funny little noise in his throat when he eats. Scolding Bobby has no effect on him. Therefore I shall be forced to leave this one shadow to cast its dark reflection on l'lobby's joyous little being.-Fificda Dzirlxoii. COMMENCEMENT IMPRESSIONS There was never such a night! This is the unvarying opinion of all those who have ever participated in a high school commencement. Other experiences may be more glamorous, more successful, but the high school commencement is unique, in that it is an unrepeated incident in one's life. It is the formal exit from childhood to young womanhood and manhood. Of course, to the graduate there is no such serious interpretation of the event. Sentiments and serious contemplations, the code of youth decrees, must he hidden under a mask of hilarity and action. No detail of the exercises is deemed more important than the decoration of the stage. The class colors are generously exhibited in flowers and streaming ribbons of crepe paper, arranged by the boys of the decorating committee. After a wild rushing about for forgotten materials, and after arrangements, rearrangements, and disarrangements have been made, ac- cording to the dictum of each and every one present. the stage is ready. Careless bantering and joking stop for a moment as a last review is made. There is the motto proudly raised above the stage: the ferns and flowers across the front of the platform: the white ribboned basket for the diplomas. The basket seems quite elegantly conscious of its importance. ls it not almost a tradition of the schools? Has not its ribboned splendor graced innumerable commencements? The boys at length shuffle out of the school. A last loud laugh echoes through the corridors and drifts back to the auditorium. Then, silence. A great, round, curious sun glances in at the interesting stage, enriching the colorful ribbons and flowers with a soft dancing light, and flickering across the backs of the waiting empty chairs. Graduation night, a counter display for assorted human emotions-mother love, repressing streaming eyes: fatherly pride, struggling to loose itself from control: and school love, the union of teachers' and pupils, hearts, strengthened by struggles and triumphs in a com- mon cause. And now the ordeal. Some one hundred and six young hearts tlnunp fiercely. The air be- comes stitling. :X nervous hand for the thousandth time pokes the soft waves of a perfect marcel. A member of the board of education beams benediction on the youth of this gen- eration. :X speaker rises, moves rather clumsily to the center of the platform. and, setting his chin determinedly forward. begins grimly. An old woman in the audience nods her head rhytlunically as the frightened young speaker hurries on. Vaguely he realizes his voice had ended in a weak squeak in that last forceful question: that he could not gracefully use his handkerchief. Then he gropes for his chair again. The orchestra affords a few minutes respite. Now the precious diplomas are held fast in moist warm hands. The orchestra plays a concluding number, and the audience begins to disperse. Old friends linger: one or two of the girls cry. Reluetantly the graduates leave the school. with a haunting impression of blurred familiar faces. and the commencement becomes but an experience to be recalled in future reminiscences. -Irene Salai, I2-A. page lznndred nineteen