University of Montana Western - Chinook Yearbook (Dillon, MT)

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Class Prophecy. TTHE TENT is now dilapidated. It has felt the rain and the sun I of every clime. Over the doorway appears the significant legend, “Sure Cure For the College Fever.” And what signified the crowds of humanity, yellow in Asia, black in Africa, and white in other countries, who daily (locked to the tent? That the College fever had been spreading increasingly for the past thirty years. The fever-stricken patient came to my shrine and there while he drank the potion, I chanted the pleasant rhyme: “This potion I do give to thee To free you from the hope to be In halls of stern psychology, Of synthesized philology, Systematized catology, i Analyzed geometry. To make you ever fancy free For lack of all brainology”. In this useful wandering life I had had the good fortune to meet all of the class of naughty six. And the joy at the sight of a classmate ever increased. One afternoon after office hours as I was strolling in front of the tent my meditations on the affairs of life were interrupted by a voice saying, “Willie shall never go to college. If it hadn’t been for that old college, I’d never have met you.” “Amen,” said he. I sold her a bottle. Many others of the old class were using their influence for the same cause. It'was at a revival meeting that I heard one preaching on “College Evils.” She moved men’s ’hearts by her beauty and eloquence but no one as yet had moved hers. On one of my busy days in Montana a woman rushed pell mell through the crowd in my tent and to my shrine, “Did I look wild?” I heard her say as she rejoined a companion: “I just had to get a bottle of the cure. I’m deter- mined my daughter shall never go to a fool place like a college.” Texas is a beautiful country. I was gazing over the prairie in rapture, when a wagon load of people came in sight. I recognized the woman at once, and when she had quieted the happy band of children, she had me pose for a picture.. While in Kansas city all in the tent were distracted by the noise of angry feminine voices. “What does this noise mean,” I inquired of a native. “Oh, that’s just a Woman’s Rights indignation meeting

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Song to the Class of '05. There’s a class that we shall evermore remember. Tis the Senior Class of nineteen Hundred Five, Since we met you in the bright days of September, We have thought of you with happiness and pride, Hut today the roses long to fill your pathway, And to echo those sweet hopes of future days, Bidding you, dear Seniors, to enjoy these hours, When the whole earth seems a vale of flowers. Chorus— ‘Neath the clustering vines of this dell, Stands the Alma Mater you love so well, And we know we’ll miss you all From our dear old Normal Hall, Oh, but we’ll miss you, We’ll miss you, We’ll miss you, Oh but we’ll miss you In the Golden Fall. Oh, but, listen, while the Juniors now remind you Of the spreads, the dances, and the bakery, too And how gallantly our colors you defended And hoped they’d e’er sail with red, white, and blue, These are links of memory that can ne’er be broken, For we cherish each as a priceless token. ’Mid this happiness we still are caused to sigh, For the sad winds whisper, “Girls, good bye.’’ Chorus— Good-bye, Seniors, now from us you part, How these cruel words pierce each heart, For we’ll miss you, Seniors dear, More and more with every year, Farewell, dear Seniors, Dear Seniors, Dear Seniors, Farewell, dear Seniors, Farewell to you.

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headed by Miss K,” and while I looked at her from a distance, I heard her merry laugh. She wore a long overcoat, a derby, and carried a monstrous, threatening umbrella. Another member of the old class, I found happily located in the Windy City of the Treasure state, where, as you may be surprised to learn, she was never near meltin’. I met one in the streets of Cork. She wished to have her children educated in her native land rather than in those American schools. Was there ever a more effective play than, “College Life?’’ No, never! Its composers and stars were Hawker, Wade, Lindfors, and Streit. It was one of those emotion stirring aids to humanity and it has caused them to be put down on the scroll of fame as benefactors of the race. I had the boldness to go with my cure to Dillon. During the twenty-four hours I was permitted to stay in town, I met still another classmate. She said that ranching near Dillon was a good enough trade for anyone. The whole world was aware of the genius of the great actress. It was her success at elocuting at college that inspired her to go on the stage. In the beautiful cathedral in Berlin, I heard and recognized a voice that moved all hearts to devotion. When I was peddling my wares in New York city a handsomely dressed lady stepped up to me. We recognized each other immediately and of course talked of the days of “Auld Lange Syne.” When she was leaving the tent I heard her remark, “Isn’t she a dream! Too bad she never married.” “Ye gods and little fishes! Is that really you?” Then she fell to weeping. “This is what you have to endure when you are light headed and get married. Now they all want to go to college. Ach Gott.” Oh yes, I saw her. By the way she is happy now in Illinois. Music soothes the savage soul but her poetry melts the most hardened, civilized, collegiate heart. Aren’t we proud of the only man of our class? Yes, he is president of Yale. They say he writes against my noble work, but then he never did agree with Normal sages. “The Senator from Indian Territory,” announced the bell-boy. She was ushered into my presence. Before she left I had succeeded in bribing her to introduce a bill making it compulsory for all school children to take my dope. You want to know about my side partner? Oh, she writes poetical advertisements for me. Africa is a fine country. By the way, I met a class-mate there, the one that had those serious brown eyes and quiet manner. When I saw her last she was singing a hymn of praise with the black-eyed children. How did I come back from Africa? Oh, in a hack! ’06.