St Johns High School - Blue Devil Yearbook (Darlington, SC)

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St. John's E c hoe s , 19 3 (! 23 public, and later made the “Junior Revue” a success to help the Junior Class. Then, of course, there was our senior play in which we “shone.” All along: our way through school other trees had been set out in our little forest while some were taken away from it. But there is still quite a large group here as you can see. Stay with me a while—and be kind enough to accompany me through the forest of this Senior Class. We have separated into different types of trees and here I will try to point out to you the individuals. Here stands a clump of Oaks—large and dependable— by the names of John Brown, Ned Dargan, Richard Davis, Mollie James and Julian Wilson. Then over here the pines—stately pines of untold value to the world— Lawrence Abbott, Inez Law, Margaret McLeod. Over there the very useful and charming maples—Edith Register, Ruth Russ and Pearl Munn. And now we come to two trees of much beauty—the Mimosa and the Magnolia—Harriet Vaughan and Margaret Jeffords. Next comes the trees noted for their broad roots and splendid foundations—Jack Byrd, Mildred Hatchell, James Lyles. Then here is a very hardy and useful tree—the fir, represented by Edward Davis. Right beside it grows a group of fine spruce trees—almost like the pines—Ivan Taub, William Howie and Phoenix Hewitt. And here is a clump of sturdy and hardy hickorys as Neill Murphy, Dick Vaughan and Ernest Langston. Nearby are three trees that we could hardly get along without—the cocoanut trees, namely, James Mozingo, Crayton McCown and Mildred Baker. Next to these you see the pretty quivering little aspens, perpetually fluttering and whispering—Ruth LaMotte and Frances Lea Huff. We have, too, some holly trees; they get along almost anywhere—Annie Me. Edwards, William Greene, Taddy James and Dorothy Leigh Parker. Now at last we come to a group of very stately but modest trees—the elms—Minnie Smoot, Mary Louise Rhodes, Emma Law Baker, Helen Ward, Nannie DeWitt and Pearl Hill. I sincerely hope that you love nature enough to enjoy these fine specimens of trees—and that you have found as much pleasure in their history as I did—and now I take great pleasure in presenting to you the senior “forest” of 1930. J. P. BRUNSON, JR., ’30

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21 St. John's Echoes, 19 3 0 to the public. We also had commencement exercises and were graduated with honor from the graded school. I suppose that all of you know that the greenness of freshmen is proverbial. We were not only green but verdant. One of our number. I’ll call no names, when he saw the water fountain running, ran to tell Miss Brunson that the water was all leaking away. Still another thought that there was a tree called a palmolive, and said as much in class. Although we took our class troubles lightly, we found others of a more serious nature in the sophomores. Nevertheless, their effect was good, for we soon lost our greenness. It was often SUPPLANTED by different colors—most of the time, black and blue, and we found ourselves steadily becoming sober and serious citizens. However, our little forest of saplings had grown in strength and stature, and had begun to show the characteristics for which we were later noted. Th? following year we entered the ninth grade. And we, like all other sopho- mores, were called “wise fools.” Taking no stock in the adjective “wise” I shall tell you that we certainly fitted the latter part of this name. As a class we probably had enough brains to go around but it did not seem to be evenly divided. Especially among the boys there was a serious lack of common “horse” sense. In spite of this though, we proved ourselves to be one of the best sophomore classes St. John’s had ever had. We put the freshmen in their places, and attempted to put the juniors, seniors, and teachers in theirs, but to no avail. Then the next year found us juniors. This year we nearly put the seniors out of “business.” We had grown so much that the shadows of our success practically eclipsed the efforts of the poor seniors. Oftentimes, too, we were mistaken for them, which we thought was quite a compliment to our friends, the seniors. To sum all of this up, we just out-seniored the seniors. But we still thought of the time when we would attain that dignified estate and could show the others how to be super seniors. During this year, however, we thought much of the seniors and ourselves too, for that matter, which was shown by the Junior-Senior Banquet of 1929. We were the first class to give one, but we sincerely hoped that the succeeding classes would follow our noble example. This banquet was quite a triumph, the meal proper proving to be of the most interest to all, which is more than can be said of some speeches made by the teachers. Following the meal came some “stunts” by the juniors which showed the seniors up. This time we were certainly successful in putting them in their places. Then came the crowning event of our career. We became seniors in September of the year ’29. But alas—our junior experiences had been so much like senior experi- ences, that nearly all of the thrill of being a senior was taken away. But we got along as best we could in spite of this. Our teachers all thought that we placed ourselves almost on a par with them, but they were sadly mistaken for we considered ourselves greatly their superiors. The faculty was everywhere looked down upon as only an abominable pest in our classes. They even went so far as to forbid us to talk to each other during lessons. This was the gala year of our school days. Here we were seniors, but we were still considerate of the outside world. We gave a Senior Follies and Minstrel for the

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St. John's Echoes, t 9 3 0 26 GYPSY MAGIC CLASS PROPHECY IT WAS a late November afternoon. The football game was won! I could hear the last straggling laugh of the crowd as they left the grounds. As I tripped through the narrow path in the woods leading to my home, I decided the world was a beautiful place in which to live. The golden autumn sunset shimmering mystically through the brilliant leaves, intensified the still, lonely silence. The hazy richness of the atmosphere, the steady flow of the tiny stream, and the stillness, all formed a picture as elusive and impalpable as a day dream. Wishing things could stay like this forever, I finished the apple I was eating and quickly began counting the seeds—“One, I love—two, I love—three, I love, I say—four, I love with all my heart—five, I cast away—” Suddenly I was interrupted by a laugh and a rustle of leaves! Peeping quizzically through the bushes was the mischievous, smiling face of a gypsy child. I found myself in a gypsy camp! I was fascinated by the sight of the tent, the fire, the brown woman with her babies, the radiant colors of their scanty clothes, and the strange music of a guitar. Night had fallen. I lingered—spellbound by the sweetest, wildest music I had ever heard — melodies made at will. The graceful bodies of the amber-hued children danced in the firelight like magic elfins. A laughing, carefree woman dressed in scanty, limp clothing and a beautiful shawl, a scarlet kerchief around her black head and her neck adorned by a necklace of gold coins, sat near me giving a vivid account of their wanderings. She told of gypsy romance, of gypsy folk-lore and of the wonderful gift of second sight. Deftly she removed an odd-looking ring from her hand and slipped it on the first finger of my left hand. In a flash I could read the future! Crayton McCown, who boasts of being “Darlington’s Best Sofa,” will go a step further, sooner or later, as he will become the private sofa to a triple-chinned, three- hundred-and-fifty-pound “sweet thing” known as “wifey.” Ruth LaMotte shall rule over men. For while on a big-game hunt in the African jungles she will adopt a long-lost tribe and become “Queen Boop-Boopa-Doop,” wield- ing her heavy scepter with a firm hand. To the amazement of his friends, Ivan Taub will become a fearless lion tamer. Before his iron will the roaring beasts become docile as kittens, as their master places his handsome head in their hungry mouths. His dependable and fearless understudy will be no less than William Howie, himself well knowrn in this profession. Taddy James, as “The Lady Champ Golfer,” will go on an extended vamoose to Africa, where she will have plenty of space and caddies to satisfy her wants. Ned Dargan will run away from home to become a popular night club leader and tap dancer, spreading sunshine with his good-natured grin! One of the most interesting figures in the music world of tomorrow will be the noted director of the Newr York Symphony Orchestra. Dressed in the customary