Sylvania Burnham High School - Burgoblac Yearbook (Sylvania, OH)

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f The Fate of the Class of '30 XVhr-r-r-r. A shrill sound like a siren broke the mocking silence of the large room. 1 sat in the secret chamber of Madame Lenore Mersereau's famous rendezvous of spirits. U That is only the spirits communicating, Madame assured me, in her slow, hollow voice. Sit still where you are and the seance will proceed. Do not scream or cry out at anything you may see. You have only to follow these simple directions. Each minute for forty minutes blow one bubble from -this clay pipe and, as it bursts, there will you see each one of your classmates as they will appear at twelve o'clock, noon, on July 9, 1950. She then turned out all the lights but one small lamp that sent forth weird, blue rays that battled feebly with the dark shadows. I stretched forth my pale, trembling hand, picked up the pipe, and put it to my lips. I hesitated as I realized not only the mystery but the solemnness of the occasion. I was about to see the fate of forty of my best friends. As I blew gently, a beautifully colored bubble appeared and floated through the air. I watched it closely and as it burst I immediately saw two dim faces. The picture widened and became brighter. There in a dining-room at opposite ends of the table sat Mary Anne and Bunny. They, with their six children, made a very happy scene. But much too quickly the picture faded and was gone. I took a long, deep breath and put the pipe to my mouth again. The second bubble enclosed the scene of an elaborately equipped laboratory. A man sat at a table intently working on some small machine. Thinking him a stranger, I glanced out of the window and saw a sign. What! VVhy! Is it possiblei That sign says, ' Keller Research Laboratories '. I turned again to look at the man and this time I recognized him to be our own Gordon. Before the next bubble burst I heard a commanding voice saying, And, therefore, ladies and gentlemen, it is most necessary that we elect Judge Brown to be Senator. I couldn't mistake that voice and when Evelyn Farley 's picture appeared as she stood in Convention Hall, Chicago, I recalled her vow to become a politician, a leader of women. I blew for the fourth time and a particularly beautiful bubble emerged from the bowl. Surely this must contain some lovely scene. XVhen it burst I recognized the reception room in Buckingham Palace. The queen was there and the attendant was just announcing a debutante. Your Majesty, Miss Vivian Myers. Vivian entered in her lovely gown and the picture disappeared as she advanced to take the queen 's extended hand. The next bubble contained a terrible picture. Mary Little was about to be killed by a rough-looking man. I breathed easier when I noticed the proscenium around the picture and realized that it was only a movie, starring Mary. The hero entered and saved her. Then they flashed an announcement on the screen, f'The Troubadour Trio will now sing for you accompanied on the grand organ by Dick Wilcox. Three charming young ladies appeared. As they sang the first note I recognized them to be Ina, Georgietta, and Iris. Richard 's accompaniment was exceedingly well rendered. The picture grew dim and I 1 9 3 Page Twenty-.re'uen . i li, A - I Tfrfx ' x g 1 ' lf::,x,-- D X..-2-.X 331- JET.: - - , p - H ld 1'-L ......

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L . . 132 -s , n.--,-,,,n..,.- Senior Class History The tide of moss, grass, and Howers has swept across the earth. It is June, the spring- time of the year. The trees have once more adorned their gay branches, the bright songsters have returned to their old haunts in the wood and glens, but the class of 1930 is in the midst of joyous springtime greetings, about to undertake a new adventure. It was in September, 1926, that we first began to share together the work of school life. It was our Freshman year. Our class was organized and with the help of our teachers, we were introduced into B. H. S. with all of its fascinating charms. It was not long before we were Sophomores, and when the third year dawned upon us, most of us were Juniors. Then we dipped into the future as far as human life can see, and, although some climbed the ladder of knowledge faster than others, we remembered that the poet said: 'tSome must follow and some command, Though all are made of clay. NVQ were more than proud that vear of our .Tunior-Senior banquet and Junior play, which were both great successes. VVould anyone, glancing into the north room of B. H. S. that morning in October, 1930, suspect that we, scrambling for seats and renewing old acquaintances, were the Seniors of the school? VVelll I think so, should he have taken a second glance soon after when work was begun in earnest. VVork was not scarce this year. If we were proud of our Junior activities last year, we exulted in our Senior activities this year. Many times we had looked and watched the Seniors on the platform with their caps and gowns, and longed for the time when we should be in their places, but it is not with complete gladness that we are receiving our diplomas, because we realize we are leaving not only our student companions but also our instructors, whose inspiration will continue to live with us through all our daily walks of life. And as each of us leave the Senior Ship To sail on Life's Sea alone, May we prove an ever guiding star On the glorious, vast unknown. May we make of each little boat that 's launched A life with glory crowned, May we successfully steer our little boat 7? In a harbor of high renown. Page T 'wenty-.fix

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wondered how it happened that four of my old classmates had cast their lots almost beside each other. Next I saw a scene with waving wheat fields as a background and Harold Myers, a pros- perous farmer of the Middle West, just coming back to his farm home for the noon meal. His same old name fitted him yet for I could tell by the look on his face that he was happy. The following bubble inclosed a likeness of a sparkling white hospital room. On the bed lay a patient. I recognized the kind, sympathetic look of Elda Albring on the face of the nurse. The door opened and the doctor stepped into the room. Her jovial greeting sounded familiar and as she stepped to the bedside she turned sideways so I could see her face. Sure enough, Georgianna Baker 's dream had come true. The picture disappeared abruptly during a funny story Georgianna was telling her patient. Homesickness and longing filled my heart when I looked on the next scene, one of our own good old Burnham. Out on the playground Orena was directing the activities of a gymnasium class. The next bubble was exceptionally large, and no wonder as it contained the biggest surprise of all. VVhen it burst I saw a very large and very busy office. Seeing no one I recognized, I glanced over to the door and saw that the manager of this large force of secretaries and stenographers was a well-known ladies' costume designer. It said that that was the door to the manager 's private oiice. As I stood reading the sign the door opened and Jack Follas walked out accompanied by his private secretary, Agnes. She seemed very much interested in something he was telling her. They both smiled and sat down at a large mahogany desk. The picture was gone before I learned what their interesting topic of con- versation was, but it was easy to see that both were happy and prosperous. The next three pictures followed in quick succession. The first was one of the Senate Chamber in Washington. Ruth Avery was making her maiden speech as the Senator from Ohio. Then the picture shifted to England. There was a large, old castle surrounded by woods and beautiful green fields. The huge iron gate swung open and Evelynn Parker walked forth, the apparent mistress of the place. The third showed the inside of an art gallery. Two pictures seemed to be attracting a lot of attention, so I leaned forward to see if I could just discern the name, Reed. I felt ashamed when I thought about it, because when I saw the art gallery, that, of course, should mean no one but Eleanor. A chill came over me as I blew the thirteenth bubble. I wondered whose fate was so unlucky as to be inclosed in my thirteenth picture. The bubble burst and there before me was the stage of the Chicago Civic Opera House. The orchestra was playing a score I recognized as being part of the opera Carmen. NVhen the prima donna came on the stage, imagine my surprise when I realized I was looking at Elizabeth Cribb. Also in the pit I recognized two of the members of the orchestra-Viola, first violin, and Doris Viers, cello. The next scene took me to a large airport. Planes were landing and taking off all the time. A mail plane arrived and, as the pilot ran to the office with the mail, I recognized him to be none other than Paul Moore. A very large dirigible was Boating lazily in the air above the hangar. On its silver side I could read a name, The Marion. Then the picture shifted to an oiiice in the hangar. Ralph Lintner was busy over a blue print of a large Page Twenty-eight 9 3 0 '