Upper Arlington High School - Norwester Yearbook (Upper Arlington, OH)

Page 23 text:

EPITAPHS —(Concluded) MARY LOUISE MILLER She bubbled o’er the Styx In flights of fancy sweet. And wandered in Elysian fields And stopped there for a treat. BRANDT THEFT Death loves a shining mark. tis said. And in this ease it had one; Our handsome president is dead. Now each day is a sad one. DON PORT All through my life my tunes I've played. But now in this grave my corpse is laid. ARLENE SKILLER Sealed in this stone cold tomb Lies Arlene Seiller. sore oppressed By something she forgot to say, Though on this earth she said the rest. J NE SIMMONS To all my friends I bid adieu, A more sudden death you never knew. I lived for art—to the Annual due; When it was finished, I withdrew. HOWARD SMITH Our old friend “Smitty now is dead, And humor from the world has fled. MARTHA SMITH Four years I spent in steady toil By all my teachers guided. When my degree at last I won I sickened and I dieded. DOROTHY TODD Dorothy Todd has gone to Heaven, There she lives, an angel bright, Shining just as in the classroom With a sure and steady light. HERD UNCKRICH In memory of Ferd Unckrich This marble monument we raise. He died and left the world a-ringing With his honor and his praise. JACK WATERMAN Beneath this slab of marble cold Lies a lad of great renown; His face and deeds we’ll ne’er forget. Though this stone keeps him down. JACK ATSON He studied too much—the habit is bad— So in the tomb they lai I this lad. ED YANTFS He knew it was gas that made it go. But what happened to him, lie'll never know! —Martha Smith. Page Thirteen

Page 22 text:

EPITAPHS — (Continued) MARY JANE EVANS Beneath these clods of silent dust She sleeps where all ye living must; The gayest youth, the fairest face In time must lie in this dark place. ROBERT PICK ELL Grave Boh Fickell’s in this tomb so cold, But his name and his memory will ne'er grow old. JANET FISHER To realms above her soul has flown. Her spirit's left our shore; Yet on this earth she'll ere be known In history—as of yore. CARTER GRINSTEAD A few brief years have sped. My work on earth is done. Now in the dust I lay my head— On earth I've had my fun. BERT HAYHURST Praises on tombs arc trifles vainly spent; A man's go« d name is his best monument. VIRGIXIA HOH EN ST IX E Tall and fair and stately She came into our lives. Virginia, a spirit queenly, Has gone to paradise. BUD INGALLS Life is a jest and all things show it. I thought so once, but now I know it. HELEN JONES Within this grave repose the bones Of popular Miss Helen Jones. MARJORIE KENNEDY Ability in many lines, her actions clearly show; But Marge, our editor-in-chief, now lies beneath the snow. TOM KIBLER I gave you my best, as you can see. Now here I am beyond life's sea. HELEN KROMPR Gay, vivacious Helen Kromer, Gone from out this world of strife. You shall dance among the angels As you tried to dance through life. PAUL LANICH I lived till, while making a speech, I choked: And now my bones in this tomb are cloaked. THELMA LYONS Here lies small Thelma Lyons Her work in life is done, And to the throne up overhead She’s gone with honor won. BETTY LEE McFEELY Throngs of shining angels are singing in the sky; For Betty Lee McFecley is now at rest on high. Page Twelve

Page 24 text:

SENIOR CLASS PROPHECY In the heart of a great metropolis, surrounded by the bustle and clamor of teeming crowds, stands that magnificent edifice—The Hotel Fritz-Carleton. The place seems all activity and confusion, and. as evening falls, little patches of light spring up in all parts of the building. It would certainly lie interesting to see just what’s going on inside—we might even see an old friend if we take a peek around the lobby. The lobby is large and ornate. People are continually rushing in and out. There’s J. Pierpont Waterman, the underwear magnate, waddling a little ponderously across the room. Carter Grinstead, his most efficient chauffeur, is carrying his bags. Registering at the desk, J. Pierpont dismisses Carter, who, left to his own devices, immediately departs to keep an appointment at one of the city’s playgrounds for tired business men. Apparently twenty-three years have not greatly changed Mr. Grinstead’s love for business. As the dinner hour approaches, we notice that our friend, Charles Brandt Tefft. is still to be found in the little barber shop that opens off the main lobby. He is enjoying a special facial that is absolutely guaranteed to raise sagging neck muscles. We understand Mr. Tefft is going to celebrate the twenty-third anniversary of his engagement to his one and only this evening. Looking more closely, we sec that his pretty operator is our former classmate, Martha Smith. It has taken her a long time to achieve her position as one of the foremost beauty specialists in New York, but at last her efforts are rewarded. Who could this meek looking individual coming toward us be? His face looks vaguely familiar—it's Tom Kibler! As he hurriedly brushes bv, his black derby set low over his ears, we learn that he is looking for Mr. Ingalls, a prominent lawyer from hio. Desiring to have a little chat with Mr. Kibler to talk over old times, we make inquiries as to his whereabouts, but are informed that he has become an income-tax collector and has very little leisure time. Our attention, as well as everyone’s else, is now diverted by the stately entrance of a most portly lady who, among other things, is carrying a lorgnette. We cannot help but hear her sarcastically inquire as to where “that worm, her husband is. While the former Miss Alberty is thus engaged, we are privately informed that her hen-pecked husband. Mr. Picked, is disporting himself up on the roof gardens at a party given by Jack Watson, the famous scientist and inventor of the education pills. These do away with studying. For instance, one has only to swallow a pill labeled Latin,” and a complete knowledge of the subject is acquired. The only difficulty is that the effect is not permanent and steady consumption of the pills is unheaithful. Nevertheless, Mr. Watson is without doubt one of the greatest benefactors of mankind. The party was being given in honor of Miss Arlene Seiller, the first feminine president of the International Debating Society. Among those present was a most distinguished guest—Mrs. Van Tasselman, the former Jane Simmons, whose husband is the owner of the famous Van Tasselman Racing Stables. We notice that Mr. Fickell is having a very good time. The dinner hour has come—we hear the strains of Don Port's Melancholic Knights from the main dining room. Could it possibly be the same Don Port that we used to know? As we hasten down the hall toward the elevators, we hear a low groan from 1035, on our right. We hesitate for a moment, wondering if any intrusion would be welcome, and then—deciding that we might be of some help— we push open the door. There is a poor, thin, wraith-like creature, lying weakly back in a chair, coughing spasmodically every few moments. With a shock we realize that this sickly person—who is certainly not long for this world—is none other than Bunnv Berlin. She motions for us to sit down. On inquiring the Page Fourteen