St Clair High School - Clairvoyant Yearbook (St Clair, MI)

Page 26 text:

CLASS POEM Our High School days were bright and cheery, Never a day was dark and dreary , Their joys our memories will hold fast , W hen our youthful hopes may feel Life ' s blast , For they were gay not dreary. Our hearts are sad, and lone and weary, Behind are the days that were never dreary , Our thoughts still cling to the school days past , And though we knew they must end at last , Today we ' re lone and dreary. Be still , sad hearts ! and cease repining; Life ' s brightest lights ahead are shining; Hope is not dead with the old school days, We leave to take Life ' s higher ways, For life is bright , net dreary. Cresence Wilson . With apologies to Henry W. Longfellow.

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20. John Schlinkert gives his cleverness and dramatic skill to Henry Simons. 21. Eunice Ross gives and bequeaths her rouge to Hazel Meiselbach, so the Library may not lose its color. 22. Neil Conlin bequeaths his ability to graduate without studying to James Boden. 23. Marie Duchane gives her public speaking ability to Gertrude Carleton. 24. George Harrison bequeaths his art of skipping school and getting “White” excuses to Rusty Guildenstein. 25. Frances Walters gives her art of chewing gum in front of Miss Mowrer to Margaret Dawson. 26. Laurel Lawrence bequeaths her report card to any one desiring a few good marks. 27. Ella Biewer gives her place in American Lit. to any Junior — don’t crowd. 28. We, the Seniors, give to the Juniors our Political Science Books. 29. Joe Joachim bequeaths his front seat (because of his size), to George Backhurst. 30. Olive Backhurst bequeaths her quietness and dignity to Eunice McMullen. 31. We, the Seniors, give to the Class of 1926 our “Deviltry.” To the Class of 1927, our “Virtues.” 32. Julia McCormick gives her place as author of the Class Will to any Junior that wants a good job. In Witness whereof, we, the Seniors, have this day duly sworn and set our seal. June, 1925.

Page 27 text:

Class Prophecy It was a real warm, quiet, clear afternoon. I was sitting alone, thinking hard. 1 had been asked to write the prophecy for our class. What to write, was the question. All at once I heard a noise like the motor of a car stopping. Then I heard a small, soft voice asking, would you like to come with me for a long ride?” I agreed to go, because I was alone and could not think anyhow; so I climbed in, and off we started. We traveled along for a long time, when I found myself in a strange city. Everything was different. I glanced around hoping to see something familiar. The first thing that met my eye was a sign, Dew-drop Inn.” It looked so refreshing and neat that I climbed out of the machine and walked over to it. As I entered the door, I heard a strangely familiar voice, saying, Send the car down for me at 12:30. Standing at the telephone talking was our former classmate, Mary Zimmer. 1 remember now how we all thought she would be a plain stenographer at Wills, but here she was, the wife of the owner of one of the largest Clothing stores in Detroit. We had been talking for about a quarter of an hour, when a small light- haired- woman came up and spoke to us. She was immaculately dressed in pure white. It was Ellen Munger, who was the owner and manager of this wonderful little tea-room. After having tea with Ellen and Mary, I continued my journey down the street. 1 was passing the Gayety Theatre, when I happen to look in, and there stood Edward O Brien in the door. He was the owner of the Gayety. I was asked to go inside and see the performance. The first part of the program was in charge of the world’s most wonderful magician. It turned out to be our old classmate, Howard Schaefer. The second feature of the program was Mile. Lawrence and her troupe of Chorus Girls, among whom was Georgeina Closs. Laurel and Georgeina were as slim and graceful as ever. Leaving the theatre, I thought it was time for me to start back to the machine. 1 went back by another route, and passed a large hospital. Standing on the steps in front talking to a large, powerfully built man, was the head nurse. It was Frances Walters talking to Joe Joachim, the head surgeon of Ford’s Hospital. They were talking aver the case of another classmate, Lucile Burkholder, who had gone to college at the U. of M„ but had worked so hard studying, that her health had broken down, and she had been sent there to rest. My queer companion was waiting for me. When I had climbed into the car. she started off without a word. We had ridden on for a couple of hours, when we saw. coming down the road in front of us, a large man, clothes in tatters, face dirty from the dust, and his hair all rumpled. We stopped to give him something to eat, as he sure looked as if he needed it. Whom did I recognize but Edward Powers! In answer to my questions, I was relieved to hear that he was just playing that part in the circus stationed about a mile down the road in a little place called Annsville. 23