West High School - Senior Occident Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

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THE OCCIDENT 135 Treasurer Floyd Owen President, Carl Chamberlain Vice-President Secretary, William Taft May Schenck CLASS HISTORY One wintry day four years ago some one opened the gates to higher knowl- edge and the class of January 1917, made its debut in West High School. While the girls did not actually appear in socks, still, many wore white stock- ings and the boys—Carl- Chamberlain, Vincent Weiser, Floyd Owen, William Taft, Forrest Dewey, Harvey Hunt and all the others—were still shivering in short trousers. Our freshmenn year was the last of the old study-room regime in which the teacher conducted a class in the front of the room and the supposedly studying youths and maidens conducted a circus in the back. Next come the big general study halls. We have survived that experiment and now we are about to be introduced to supervised study. Thus, you see, we have passed through the three great changes in West High School. But more! We were the last class to get in under the six months' freshman biology requirement. To us, too, was given the first fresh- man reception. (Know ye, oh Freshmen, that we established this noble custom!) It was our ever original class that con- ceived and carried out with glorious suc- cess the unique idea of a poverty party in our sophomore year. We flatter our- selves that the clothing on that occasion has never been rivaled before or since. Yet one thing more in that second year a sleigh ride! The big features of that were our hands and feet. It was

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134 THE OCCIDENT WILL IT EVER BE THUS? The quiet, after dinner hour had come. We had gathered around the fireplace for a cozy chat about the affairs of the day: but our hearty meal, together with the inviting warmth, made us drowsy and silent. Suddenly an excited figure rushed in, bringing, in its rapid advance, a cool fresh draught of the keen, outer air. After the first moment of dazed surprise. I recognized, in the bunch of excitement, the person of my best friend, Sue. “Excelsior!” she cried, waving aloft something which might have been the banner of old, so overwrought was she. “What’s up?” I cried, with a start. “Has the war ended?” “Better than that—guess what!” “I give it up. Don’t keep me in sus- pense.” “I can’t, or we won't get there in time.” “Get where? You needn’t think I’d venture out on a night as cold as this.” Nevertheless, Sue’s persuasive way was too much for me to withstand, so I started to get on my wraps. “Do tell me what this is all about, will you ? I asked as I fumbled with the un- ruly coat buttons and strove to adjust my hat at the proper angle. “Hurry, and I'll tell you on the way. No time now.” So we rushed from the house, even forgetting to close the door. I. in my attempt to keep up with Sue, tried to put on my new kid gloves while running. We were nearly to the corner when we heard a car approaching. With an extra spurt, we tried to catch it and would have succeeded if I had not fallen head- long into a snow drift. The car passed on. “We should have taken that car.” Sue exclaimed as she energetically pulled me out of the snow. But never mind. I see another one coming.” We boarded this one without incident and sat down, entirely out of breath. As soon as I could speak, I asked again, “Well, why all this rush?”. “See here—two tickets—for the ex- hibit to-night—at the Art Gallery. Think of it!—Complimentaries!—Aren’t we lucky?—It’s wonderful,—it’s too good-----” ' But the car was stopping with many jerks and jolts and we alighted at the entrance of a long archway. Maiiy people hurried to and fro and thru a maze of colored lights, we approached the door of the gallery. Here many men in gaudy uniforms were stationed to guard the precious treasures within. We entered and, as patiently as possi- ble, awaited our turn in the line of on- lookers. It seemed as if hours passed and we could get no nearer. Our feet were trodden-on and aching; our heads dizzy from the stifling atmosphere. Still, we did not give up. We had come to see the world’s eighth wonder and see it we would. All in a moment the crowd scattered. “At last! Come on, here’s a place,” said Sue, and she darted forward. And there before our wondering eyes lay the treasures for which J. Morgan Vanderrock had given not only his price- less paintings but also a large sum of money. A wroughb-iron rail prevented the crowd from getting too near the table of pure gold upon which rested— think of it—a real egg and also a real potato. The wonder of it almost overcame us. We had read much about, seen pictures of, but never expected actually to behold these treasures. We sighed contentedly and the hum of whispering voices seemed to swell and die out fitfully. Some words of mother’s came back to me. Yes, I could hear them very dis- {Continued on page 60)

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136 THE OCCIDENT cold enough to freeze the tail off a brass monkey. Though still treading the path of knowledge we crowned our junior year with a hop and the Shakespearean play, “As You Like It. This play, a big piece of work, was, like all else, a grand success. We must not overlook the two cham- pionships for all-round athletics, won these last two years. You will please note the scope of our abilities! And not two weeks ago was our senior dance and it is scarcely a week since our play, “Her Husband’s Wife. They spoke for themselves. Need we say more ? Thus have we gone,—ever successful, ever triumphant, ever generous, a class that need not be ashamed. Pardon our pride. We are proud of our record. Have we not a right to be? To convince you and end our course in a blaze of glory we hereby invite you all to a dance in the corridor at the close of this assembly—the music to be fur- nished by a real orchestra. Marian Huddleston Miller. “ Sir Oracle Hath Spoken! At last! Aeneas had returned from his vacation trip to Hades, where, amidst other good times, lie had his fortune told,—and now I might at last retire, with that piece of wedding cake under my pillow which, for wisest reasons, I had as yet refrained from eating—the cake (I mean). No sooner said, than done! A massive iron gate before me, swung slowly open and, in sheer astonishment, I gazed open-mouthed at the numbers above it—1-9-3-4. Something pushed me on. I entered. All of a sudden, I came to my senses and realized that Aeneas wasn’t the only one who should have the future revealed to him—tho surely I was in a far different locality. Everything was different—the first thing that hit my eye, instead of the river Styx, was a monstrous sign on top of a little shack, not far from the en- trance, which read, “C. C. C. and K. C. Co. What under the sun? My brain grew puzzled—of a sudden, the letters all unfolded, and I read, “Carl Chamber- lain, Curl and Kink Cure. Co.” Well! has it come to this, I sighed. I might have known. “O yes! replied a voice behind me— “you certainly might have!” I turned. What did I behold, but one of those long- haired, wandering, musing poets, with a huge label across the front of him, read- ing, “Sir Francis Scyfried—ex-noblc- inan! Behind him trailed a long string of the queerest figures, who were all likewise labelled. I stood there simply dumfounded. In absolute silence, they passed me by, and this is what I read: Marian H. Miller—Teacher of Alge- bra, Geometry, Trigonometry, Calculus and Kindergarten—ex-lunch car propri- etress. Anabelle Mullen—Anarchist—Watch out! Julia B. Snyder—Guaranteed Gover- ness. Milton B. Steinman—Principal of North High School. Helen M. Stein—Now Showing at the “Vic. Wilbur Cooper—D. D. (interpret them as you wish). Harvey K. Hunt—Second Sawdust- Trail. Ruth C. Kumcrow—Housekeeper— ex-suffragette. Here the procession suddenly van- ished and I was as puzzled as before. I started forth again, and the scenery changed completely. I found myself in the middle of a crowded street. Everybody was staring upward and so I did, too. Oh, it was merely an aeroplane floating around above the traffic. No sooner had I com-