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Page 8 text:
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4 hi lli lor By Pat Fuller 1939 Wa Hwa Hta See The mill grinds on and 1939's class of supposedly finished products now surreptitiously emerge with minds harboring the one thought that they arc now desirous to brush the wispy tendrils of prcp-School ivy from their back hair and fare forth into a Darwinian Survival-of-the-fittest-world with merely a scrap of paper saying that they finally made it,” and enough ambition to tackle anything in view. There they go—valedictorian, salutatorian. the class famous, the class obscure, you and you and me. Out to tread the treacherous way. the turn-pike with things that snap and snarl at you on every corner. Armed only with the accoutrements of learning and memories of four years. And will we be condemned for treason for saying that some of the memories lack that certain grandeur that class historians are wont to wax expansive over? Memories that have to do with quaking knees and stumbling feet? As freshmen we had our share of those. Scared, skinny, and self-conscious with feet, hands and heads tied together haphazardly, and studies that threw the fear of the powers that be into our quivering marrow. Flying blind through a dense fog with a chart full of x plus xy minus y's and hie. haec. hoes. New business and tough business—business that made us wonder whether we had been allotted all that was coming to us. although most of us did make it somehow. Then came greener pastures, the Elysium fields of sophomoredom: a sophomoric ego is a tremendous, wondrous thing. We were finally learning the angles. No more cringing into corners. Nonchalance was the order of the day. And there was. we were learning, a social side of school life that we hadn't been aware of as freshmen. Very important things you know, like dates and stuffl Anyway we planned a picnic for the seniors which was unanimously voted a wow and about which we are still bragging. Well, the Junior year wasn’t bad. but isn't it funny what a strange awkward looking bunch of kids those were in the freshman and sophomore class—just kids. They really aren't old enough to be away from their mothers. Isn't it funny?—And then there was. of course, the ever memorable Junior-Senior banquet which as always proved wholly unequaled. Of course, there were a couple of girls there that should have known a lot better. Not that their dresses were exactly like yours but they were enough alike for one to be able to tell that they had nastily remembered what one had told them about at sorority meeting. It seems that nothing is sacred to some people. And so now we re really graduating! There's something terribly traditional and sort of awe-inspiring and things about a cap and gown, isn’t there? But then we don’t suppose anybody will notice it if we wear this mortar-board at just a little bit more than the prescribed angle, do you? It's lots more becoming this way! So now we stand at the end of the long path of our most important year. We hold but a small diploma in our hands but our hearts are brimming with personally sacred memories—memories of life-long friends of hard spent but useful hours, and of silly, embarrassing moments which at the time seem horrible but are now endeared to us forever. Memories of a wonderfully, noisy, successful. athletic season, of a senior play that actually put Hollywood and Small Fry on the same level, and of all the other many activities which were equally wonderful. So here we stand—the Senior Class of 1939. and with quantities of star dust shining from our eyes we can only say. Wasn’t it all perfectly swell?”
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Page 7 text:
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Dedication In an effort to show our sincere appreciation for his invaluable assistance and guidance through our four years of high school work. we. the Class of 1939, dedicate this volume of Wa Hwa Hta See to Mr. E. L. Jones.
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