University of Wisconsin Superior - Gitche Gumee Yearbook (Superior, WI)

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Then they passed out on the campus. Saw a heap of bricks lie, scattered All in orderly confusion. Then he heard how Regent Crownhart, Long conferring with McCaskill, Planned a splendid dormitory, With a floor so smooth and waxy, Unexcelled for playing games on. Then he looked beyond the campus. Saw a broad field, level, grassless. Saw some youths at work upon it Playing ball, and rooting wildly; Also saw the court for tennis, Wisely planned by Regent Crownhart, Planned for comfort of the students, For their happiness and welfare. Saw he all the Indian customs, Though with changes, followed closely. Then, in accents full of music, Spake the chieftain Hiawatha In a voice like zephyrs sighing, Rising softly, faintly dying: “From the shores of Gitchc Gurnee Gone my people, gone the red men. Better far the Indian customs With these modern innovations. Yet the purpose of my visit Is to warn you, is to tell you— Let this be your future striving: Less of work and more of pleasure, Less of books and more of nature. More of flowers, and birds, and sunsets. More of hunting and of fishing. Fine the fishing in the Brule, Full of sahwa, maskenozha. 'Pell this to your worthy chieftain. To your President McCaskill, And he'll grant you a vacation, Grant you frequent short vacations. Thus relaxing Senior faces, Thus rejoicing all the students. Now 1 leave you; I must journey Far beyond man’s habitation, To the Islands of the Blessed, 'l o the regions of the home wind.” “Here! get busy!” angry shouted Many voices, strangely distant. Flliott turned and saw each member Of the staff hurl copy at him, Till in whiteness deep and heavy He was covered, he was buried. Let us leave him now, fair reader, Leave him to his sad reflections. Minnie Lois Bergh. 1VHBN I)II 0 DIED Oh, woeful day! oh, heart-harrowing time! when all eyes arc tear-bedewed and all cheeks flushed with sorrow over the romantic death of the beautiful Carthaginian queen, Dido, slain by her own fair hand! Oh, vc Gods of High Olympus, must it be so? Avert this great calamity. Turn away your anger. Sparc us from this great trial. Miserere! A GrIEKSTRICKBN VlRCll.lTB. April 25, 11:40 a.m. OVEKHGARI) BY A PRACTICE TEACHER Johnm—“Say, did you hear that our teacher, Miss Henderson, isn't coming back next year?” Charlie—“What is she going to do?” Johnny—“They say she is going to resign and be a Jim teacher.” WAS THE ANSWER APROPOS? Time—noon. Place—Hotel Doonan. Occasion—Miss Lowry is asked by her hostess what she will have. Miss Ixiwry (absently)—“Oh—ah—1 believe I will have some silver.” G I T C II E G U ft E E PAGE EI.KVEN

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G I T C II E 0 u n E E An Idyll of the Sanctum (Prize Poem) In the office of the Gitchk, In the sanctum of the Gumee, Sat the editors and artists Round the table, sadly sighing. Round and round, in circles di ,y.y, Went their heads, as high beside them lowered lofty piles of stories. Poems, locals, paintings, pictures. Handed in by many students. In a corner, lone and weary. Head in hands, sat Klliott Donalds. Mistily before him floated Vague and shadowy forms and faces Of the students of the past years, Long departed from the Normal. Still his mind passed back—far backward Till before him Indian faces Gleamed and glanced from out the forest— Forms of Indians once dwelling On the campus of the Normal. Suddenly he felt a presence, Felt a light touch on his shoulder. Heard a voice of music whispering, Sighing. ‘‘I am Hiawatha, 1, the leader of the people Who have passed before your vision. You have called me; you have brought me From the regions of the West Wind, From the grounds of Happy Hunting.” Then, in tones of reminiscence, Hiawatha spoke in this wise: Where stand now these halls of learning, Once, ’mid forests tall and stately, Waving trees of pine and poplar. Lived my people in their wigwams. On the grasses soft and yielding, On the green hill over yonder, Danced the youths and maids together. Here, ’neatli fragrant boughs widespreading, Were the lovers’ trysting-placcs. From my wigwam door I taught them, Taught my people truth and wisdom, Taught the art of picture-writing. Faithfully I told the legends. The traditions of the fathers. Still in names of lakes and rivers Live the legends of my people, Live the stories of the red men; Never will they be forgotten. Though another race of people Dwells beside the Rig Sea Water, Are the customs of the Indians AH discarded, all forgotten. Cast aside for newer methods? Very quickly Donalds told him That, with changes, still the customs Of the Indians we arc following. Then, as proof, he showed the Normal, Took the ancient Hiawatha Up and down the Normal building, Hade him look and bade him listen To the things presented to him. In the hallway dodged they students, Dodged they many fleeing figures. Why these youths and maidens fleeing? What their tidings of importance, That with solemn countenances Haste they like the Indian runners With the fleetness of the rabbit, With the fleetness of Wabasso?” In one sentence I will answer, Full of meaning—they are Seniors.” As he spoke, a whisper floated Downward from an upper stairway, From a youth to maid below him. Floated downward like the sea gull, Meet me at the radiator. 'Through a widely open doorway, Saw they many flying figures, Whirling, shifting, flying swiftly. Now advancing, now retreating. Slightly changed,” said Hiawatha. Greatly marveled Hiawatha At the wonderful improvements In the art of picture-writing. In the methods of instruction. I'ACE TEN

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0 I T C H E 0 U n E E VI AND I (Prize Story) OME in, 'l imey. Fine night, ain’t it ? ’ It was Patsy Moran, the commissary clerk of the camp, who invited me, the timekeeper of the gang, to come into his car out of a very wet and windy night. Don’t get the idea that his car was a Pullman, or anything like that. It was a sleeping-room, dry goods store, oflicc, sitting-room, and grocery store, if you take the arrangement of the interior in order, from the hunk built in one end to the pile of potatoes in the other. From the outside you would call it only a twenty-eight foot box car with a few windows in it. 'Flic foreman and his assistants, with whom I shared another car, spoke only their native tongue in the evenings: and, as that was foreign to me, I sought an acquaintance with Patsy as soon as he struck camp. He was just such a man as you would sec any day. He wore a derby cocked on one side of his head, his black curls crowding out from under it. A scarlet necktie on a lavender shirt, a bright blue serge suit, and patent leather shoes finished out his city make-up. Around camp, though, any old thing was good enough if he could work in a little color somewhere, just a red llanncl shirt or a pair of green socks—anything, he used to say, to show he wasn’t on the bum. 1 stopped a moment on the top round of the ladder for one more breath of fresh, damp air before going in where the cigarette smoke was so dense as to make the lights dim. “What arc you doing, Patsy? aren’t you ever going to get through driving nails? He stood back to get the effect of the sugar sack curtains he had just strung up in the window. Right again! I can’t stand windows without some kind of cover. What was that last commissary clerk like, anyhow? I’ve been taking down hammock hooks and busting tip easy chairs ever since I struck, three weeks ago. Now that 1 got my counter in and the kitchen fixed up, I can fix myself up a bit. No wonder that last guv got fired. He had his magazines and dime novels laying around all over, but 1 couldn't find his daily report sheets nowhere. Moran was nothing if not businesslike. I he first week he spent putting up shelves in the kitchen and a nail or hook for everything hangable. The dining cars got the next week; and now, at the end of the third week, his car had every box, crate, and keg labeled, a counter for his book-keeping, and shelves for the dry goods and tobacco he kept on sale for the men. So now, to-night, lie was engaged in putting PACE TWELVE