Taylor University - Ilium / Gem Yearbook (Upland, IN)

Page 20 text:

Lo! The Great Seniors! A jolly class was the Senior Class; Though in quantity but few, In quality they made it up; For my! How much they knew! For there was Hanson, heavyweight, And Helen Smith likewise — In all respects they ' re up to date, Especially up ' ' in size. With stately walk and owl-like mien They ' ve paced the campus walks, Or sauntered out across the green Engaged in learned talks. And Bushey too, and Floyd Bamett, Who gathered up our dollars; Our photographs, he has them yet; He took them with our collars. Of calculus and Hebrew verbs, Astronomy and trig, Greeks roots and hyphenated words- How they must love to dig! Then Leslie Brook and Asplin too- One still, the other loud; Ruth Copley and Beautrix Graves — One modest, and one proud. Or they discoursed in lighter vein Of subjects less austere; Of S. P. ' s, the preceptress ' bane. But to the students — dear. Miss Lonergan, our worthy clerk; And Bob, our fashion plate; And P. B. Smith, the orator; And Gladys, P. B. ' s mate. The other classmen gazed in awe With widely staring eyes At those grave creatures whom they saw, Who were so wondrous wise. And last and least comes Shakespeare II, Patty, the Senior poet; He ' s always writing master gems — ' Tis people do not know it. But when, arrayed in cap and gown Of Ebon ' s sober hue, They wandered forth about the town, f They loomed to glorious view. And so in all we are thirteen, And we ' ll be lucky too, The finest seniors ever seen To graduate from T. U. W. F. P. L6

Page 19 text:

Senior Class History Everything must have a beginning; otherwise it would not be any- thing — classes and class histories included. Our class had a history somewhere, I reckon. It is going to have an ending, and I suppose it must have begun. So that is settled; it began. Through the course of its four years of history it has evoluted considerably. Far be it from us to say that the Freshman class of 1914 was composed of monkeys, though probably it was; possibly it was not, but the scientific fact remains — we have evoluted. From what into what we do not know, but we have evoluted. Only three atoms of the original life germs of the Freshman class have survived the changing vicissitudes of the rocking billows of learning ' s deep blue sea. Much learning is a weariness of the flesh, and many have fallen by the wayside. But through the dim roar of the class room, the smoke and flame of examinations, and the murky mist and mud of the green carpet, Beautrix Graves, Bob Williams and N. E. Hanson have hopefully and smilingly survived and pressed on to the goal. N. E. Hanson was born. That is self-evident, but that did not make him famous. His offices as class president and Gem business manager have set him upon the top round of the ladder of academic fame. As a parting gift to the school, we, the Senior class, shall leave his statue, calm, cool and majestic, fair fat and — ty, reposing on the steps of Sickler dorm looking toward the McGrew barn and the Swallow-Robin dormitory — a veritable modern Janus. Miss Beautrix Graves was born in America. She has traveled quite extensively, having made one trip to Gas City, one to Jonesboro (not the one in South Africa,) one to Matthews; and once when a very litle girl, she went with her papa to Hartfoi-d City. At this place in the East she acquired the habit of slurring her r ' s. Her charac- teristic phrase since early childhood has been: Well, let ' s go ahead and do it. Robert Williams, son of an eminent lawyer, has been gifted from youth with a cross between a John Bullish and a mulish desire to rebut everything he hears. He will go without meals and sleep to convince anybody that everything is going wrong and that it should go right. He also was born in the U. S. A. Helen Smith: Strictly Anti-Suffrage has been her motto for years. She won first prize in a baby beauty contest in 1889. Now she is known chiefly for likability. Glen Asplin has made his motto of life, Never believe anything you can not thoroughly understand. Meanwhile he keeps right on talking about everything as if he understood. Keep on; you will get somewhere sometime. Born in Jerusalem. Ruth Copley always speaks when she is spoken to if she can think of anything to say. She was born in Kansas. Nationality unknown. Floyd Barnett comes from Ohio. He has been a life-long lover of the girls, always one in particular and all in general. Destiny: matri- mony. fatal destiny! We can not remember when he was born; but it was somewhere between 1903 and 1912 — nearer 1912! P. B. Smith ' s favorite motto is, Never let your studies interfere with your regular college work. He says: In all my vicissitudes of school life, which have been many, my grades have never been below 25 r r. Strictly Anti- Suffragette. Clinton J. Bushey: Born in 1776; wintered at Valley Forge with Washington; fought at Bull Run and Gettysburg. He says, I am going to quit my life of strife and warfare and marry — and rest. Gladys Miller is so calm, and steady, and settled that she must have been born in 1492. She was well acquainted wtih Columbus. She came to the States in the Mayflower. Her favorite fruit is the pickle. Warner F. Patterson, pseudo Frenchman and Editor: All his life he has regularly attended to his meals — except breakfast, when he is attending to his sleep. His motto has been, Live to eat and do not eat to live. He was born in 1911 or thereabouts. Leslie Brooke is famous for being so emotional and talkative that he is bombastic; he is also self-assertive to a degree. His destiny — Whitehouse, with a Belle attached. He was born some time in the 80 ' s Miss Lonergan is our fair secretary from the far West. She was born in the U. S. A. Nationality unknown — not so her destiny. Her only claim to fame is in having served as secretary to the illustrious and iconoclastic class of 1917. HISTORIAN. ir.

Page 21 text:

Senior Class Prophecy CONFESSIONS OF A PIE EATER. T have been asked to describe as vividly as possible the strange phenomena accompanying, or rather following, the eating of a mid- night pie. I am now about to depart to my den, where I shall eat a quantity of old-fashioned, rich, meaty, country mince pie. After eating the pie I shall take my pen in hand and await results. Dear reader, if some of the following episode is unintelligible to the com- mon mind, know that that T am in the throes of the grip of mince pie and am describing the wonderful sensations as best I can. I shall probably have to write part of the description while lying prone upon my bed, but nevertheless it shall be writ. The pie is eaten; I feel dizzy — adieu, adieu to earth! — I ' m off The night grows dark, and dank, and dreary; the wind howls piteously, weirdly, and a hideous, murky dense mist settles silently over the fields and mountains and lake, like the pall of death. A drowsy numbness pains my sense as though of hemlock I had drunk. The damp, misty darkness grows deeper and denser and — horrors ! Is this Asplin that I see before me with brushes in his hands ? Come, let me shake thy hand. Thy brown curly plate has turned to silvery white! Though rich as Croesus, dost thou still sell the Fuller line of Sanitary Brushes ? Yea, verily ! The darkness breaks. A fair vision seems rising just beyond the lake! It is — it is — Gas City! It comes nearer — clearer — deadlier than before. I see a stately edifice of gleaming green — and candy, iandy, everywhere and not a bite to eat. Ah — Miss Lonergan! What — no ? Ah yes, ' tis she, as happy — as happy, as happy can be, with Patty and candy. Ah me! Ah me! Hark! I hear footsteps. Is this Leslie Brooks? Can this be Leslie — the gay, the free, the happy Leslie? — Listen! His lips move — he would speak to me. But hush! hark! a sound strikes like a rising knell. Did ye not hear? It is — it is — the voice of Belle. T feel a sickening, sinki ng sensation in my inward man. Adieu, adieu, my native shore fades o ' er the waters blue, the night winds sigh, the breakers roar, and shrieks the wild sea-mew. Roll on thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll — far over thy stormy deep. Beautrix Graves as Stewardess doth sweep the corridors of the mighty ship of State. The eyes grow dim and the heart is sick, the brain benumbed as well as the weary hand. Wake ! wake ! A thing of beauty is a joy forever! She walks in a beauty-parlor like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies — Madame Helene Smythe, beauty specialist and renowned flesh reducer. Hear! hear! (Adv.) By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, now wherefore stopp ' st thou me. I fear thee, skinny Floyd Barnett — I fear thy skinny hand — for thou art long and lank and brown as is the ribbed sea sand. Too much fumes from the dense atmosphere of gases and acids and bases and soapsuds and steam of chemistry laboratories and soft-water laundries cling to thee. I feel beneath me the shadowy monsters of the unseen. A pie dances before my eyes! I grasp at it — and yet I have it not. But what? O what is this? Modest and shy as a nun seems she; one weak chirp is her only note. Is she an old maid schoulmarm — Gladys Miller ? Is it Latin she teaches — Latin ? Ah ! Caesar — Virgil- Cicero ! Latin ! Ail the people dead who wrote it, All the people dead who spoke it, All the people die who learn it. Blessed death! They surely earn it! 1 am lifted as a wave, a leaf, a cloud. I ride — I float — I swim — I sink — down — down — down; and then I hear a wailing cry: A Her- shey ' s! A Hershey ' s! My Kingdom for a Hershey ' s! I have set my heart upon a Hershey ' s, and I will stand upon the hazard of the die. Six girls have I wooed and lost — but ah! what is the love of woman compared with the soothing delight of Hershey ' s Sweet Milk Choco- late? A Hershey ' s! quoth Hanson. My kingdom for a Her- shey ' s! Am I awake; or do I dream — or hath the mince pie still its clutch upon my senses ? I am slipping — softly — quietly, going, going, going where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle, now melt into sorrow — now madden to crime; and there I see Bob Williams arguing that a mule was not stubborn by nature, that it was merely environ- ment made him so ! Ah! that orbed maiden with white fire laden, whom mortals call the moon, glides glimmering o ' er my ruffled bed by midnight contor- tions strewn. Another appears! What! will the line stretch out till 17