L I T E R A R Y


L O A F I N G

The greatest pleasure of loafing is that it may be done any time, any plaace, without effort. My idea of the laziest person in the world is one who would get up at five o'clock in the morning, in order that he might have a longer loafing day. A person of that type ought to work just twice a year.

Another pleasure, second only to the first, is that it takes little or no effort on the part of the indolent one. Anybody who ever loafed to any extent could tell you that.

It is said that after being under the influence oflethargy for a short period of time, one becomes accustomed to having lost all power of thinking, and their efficiency is nearly down to a minus degree. When a person gets so that he does not have a brain cell working, he is oblivious to all that goes on around him. It must certainly be a grand and glorious feeling to be blissfully ignorant. I would class that as one of the foremost pleasures of this popular pastime.

When laziness becomes chronic it is in its worst stage. The victim believes that he is ill. Perhaps his veins are too close together. He claims that he must be placed in someone's care. He will do anything to get out of work. The art of making alibis is the only way a lazy person exercises his gray matter. It usually keeps him out of work.

Major Amos B. Hoople of "Our Boarding House", is an example. He spends all his time getting out of work. What an awful comic sheet for the children of today to read. We must remember that they will be the men and women of tomorrow!

Now that that is off my mind, I will say one more word in favor of the loafers. Could they not gather themselves together and form a great union? The "National Loafers' Association" would serve appropriately as a name. In order to stop the increase in the number of members, the laws could be made strict enough to discourage the men and women of tomorrow.

First, they should group themselves together and bother nobody but each other. Secondly, they must loaf at least ten hours a day. Thirdly, they must spend twelve hours in bed. Fourth, the remaining hours may be taken up in dressing and eating leisurely. These rules will assure a life of perfect ease and comfort.

A lethargic attitude on life should not be taken. We are not here to loaf, but to get what we can out of life itself - I am a fine one to "paw the air" about this subject, but I think that I should be given credit for knowing what should be done.
......................... C.S. '28

THE DOOM OF SILK STOCKINGS

If the school could have struck it would have been just sounding the hour of twelve, when in through the windlow, heedless of the glass, there floated three witches - strange, mysterious, wild looking creatures. They stopped in front of the assembly room to hold a conference. "Sisters", spoke the first in a strange, hoarse voice, "You know that we have come here to get the credit that we deserve for Macbeths downfall, or have revenge."

"They say it was ambition", croacked another, "but how far would his ambition ever have taken him if we had not chosen him for our especial pleasure?"

"Pleasure indeed! It has been long since we got any pleasure out of that," spoke up the third withered old hag.

"They do not believe in us sisters," explained the first in a scornful voice, "but they shall". Let us destroy all the English books, which are responsible for their opinion of us."

"You would destroy all record of us ever existing", wisely explained the others, surprised at her sisters stupidity.

The first witch shook her head rather doubtfully, rather angry because her plan had not been accepted. "Now that we are here we must do something, or they will go on forever thinking that we do not exist."

They thought a moment and then one said, "Sisters, you know the kind of stockings that girls wear to school now - well what is to hinder our making the edges of the school chairs rough with our charms- nothing would be easier - and I have heard that nothing makes a girl angier than a big run in a pair of new stockings."

With witches, a spoken thing is as good as finished, and soon the doom of silk stockings was settled. The witches separated to go to different classrooms and work their charms, and in a very short time they were back in the assembly room. Then murmuring about "Graymalkin" and "Paddock Calling", they vanished.

If the old clock on the wall could have struck it would certainly have struck then to relieve the sudden intense stillness after the ghostlike departure of the witches, and to let the world know that something unusual had happened.

The witches had their revenge and many an innocent pair of silk stockings had been matyred to their cause. But the high school pupils still keep the same opinion of the witches in "Macbeth".
.............................. M.M. '29

WHERE HAPPINESS DEWLLS

When with sorrow my soul is laden,
And my heart bowed down with woes,
And my troubles are many and my joys are few,
And my friends outnumbered by foes,
Then I pack up and flee to the west again,
Where my youth is restored to me,
Where Happiness dwells and Love doth reign,
And Love will ever be.
................... R.S. '29

A SEPTEMBER PALACE

What a Palace! Did anyone ever see a lovlier one than this one of Nature's? The ceiling is of the fairest ocean line with white ships sailing slowly into the distance. As for the carpet, it is the softest plush anyone could wish to tread on. In a palace one generally sees a king but where is he? Ah! there he is towering above all the other stately ones with his golden crown. Round him are his livered servants, some in green coats with a dazzling golden trimming, some in red with daintily painted figures of yellow and green. Still some are in brown with here and there small patches of their coats missing and pieces of them floating to the velvety carpet.

Within the arms of the liveried servants may be seen tiny winged creatures trilling their songs of happiness and gladness - while I, a human being, can but utter a soft sign.
.....................D.T. '28

THE PINES

Beautiful stately pines! The lofty tree rises to meet the azure sky and not to be overshadowed by its beauty, toss their green heads in a haughty gesture of recognition. The graceful trees form arches , frail and high, which even in their frailty seem to possess remarkable courage.

The wind in the boughs breaths a melodious, rich tone - expressive of these trees at times - full, mighty, yet sweet and tender. Even while we are listening, the rich full tones disappear and in their places we hear the wind again' this time whispering through the needles like the minor surging of the sea. The sound is so convincing that we can almost see the waves as they break and play on the rocky shore - dashing their foam and spray high in a brave effort to outdo each other. But again the voice of the wind changes. Now it is low and faint as wings that startle by.

The sound grows fainter, the musician ends the piece and the wind in the pines is put a memory.
...............E.S. '28

MEDIATIONS OF A LIFEGUARD

On they come, hoards of swimmers, bathers, sleepers, or what have you! A mob of water seeking humans intent on giving the beach guard something to worry about.

A big hippopotamus with a sandwich in each hand, and some firewater tanked away, in his business man's addition. He'll need watching.

A "frail and Forty" maiden out to enjoy the rippling waves, and to cling tightly to the lifeline, as she squeals and giggles in a vague fit of bygone girlishness.

Ah! An answer to loves sweet young dream - a proud little sweetheart dragging her manly catch down to the river's edge, expecting him to exhibit a "Gertrude Ederle", type of navigation. He'll hugh the shore in a truly loving manner, assuring his anxious half that the temperature is really all that could be desired, and that the water is merely "aqua pura" and is not composed of slimy fingers seeking to pull the unwary natatorial addict beneath the sparkling surface.

"On Stanley On!" "Charge boys, give them cold steel." Ranging from the ages of devilment to more devilment, a Sunday School class, from the picnic up in the park swarms over the lifeboats, raft, and keeps on swarming as long as anything remains to be swarmed over. Ducking themselves, each other, and the big porpoise who has just imbibed the last sandwich; and then splashing that frail "somebody's aunt" until she squeals in mortal terror, hopping up and down like a ruffled bantam. Like a low accompaniment to their shreiks and howls, they lifegurard paints the ether a hazy blue, by the use of lurid, vivid, flaming adjectives; adjectives that scar, and burn; words and phrases relating, and describing their ancestors; brains, lack of brains, and every personal defect from flat feet to big ears.

Just in time to prevent wholesale slaughter, a new arrival comes to cheer the guardians drooping spirits. Some fond papa out for a day of rest, and relaxation, is followed respectively, and respectfully by Mama, Willy and "Oh! What's the use?" Papa's going to show off, WIlly who can really swim loses himself in the crowd at the dock, and Mama scans her splashing pond with a wary eye. Suddenly Willy's absense is realized, and pandemonium ensues. Mama is sure his dear dead body is resting on the cruel river bed, until Willy inquires what the excitement is all about, then pandemonium descends on Willy in the form of a spanking.

Now in this motley crew there must be one ray of hope. There is, she's walking onto the dock now. She trips gracefully over to the edge of the crowded pier, and settles like a butterfly. The lifeguard strolls by, turns and strolls by again. Then he settles in the immediate region of the cause of all this sudden awakening. He assumes a manly worried expression, designed to touch the heart of any blonde, brunette, or unclassified female. He has done all that is necessary. She speaks and the sound of her voice is like balm to a wounded soul, the worried expression fades in the glow of a joyous realization, the birdies strike up a chorus, and somewhere celestial music plays the haunting strains recognizable as "The End of A Perfect Day'.
........................R.R. '28

OUR MAGAXINE REVIEW

The Vogue - Jo ANderson, Ken Haines
True Romances - Dutch adn Margaret
Good Housekeeping - Rilla Ortgiesen
Woman's Home Companion - Mr. McMasters
French Humor - Miss Young
Amazing Stories - John Dawson
Pep - Jarloth Jones
Liberty - Harold Marks
Cosmopolitan - Senior Class
American Boy - Mr. Selander
Child Life - Harold Huyett
Sports Stories - Dick McNicol
Western Stories - Louis Sindlinger
Youth's Companion - Helen Harms
Little Folks - Freshman
Judge - Mr. Lancaster
Golden Book - Cicero (?)
Dog's Life - Orrin Peterson
Muscle Builder - Gerald Ortgiesen
Green Book - Frosh
Life - D.H.S.
Experience - Seniors
Country Gentleman - Warren Buckaloo
Men's Fashion - James Ketchen

DIXON HIGH SCHOOL SONG REVUE

Show Me the Way to Go Home - Ferris Hinds
I Live Over the Viaduct - Margaret Rees
Among My Souvenirs - Robert Cahill
When Irish Eyes Are Smiling - Helen Murphy
Hail, Hail, the Gangs All Here - 4th Period Latin Class
Dancing Tambourine - Lucille Kelley
Flapperette - Etta Finney
He's the Last Word - Bob Palmer
My Sweeties' Gone Away - Helen Byers
Me and My Shadow - Feltes adn Hamill
I'm Gonna Dance With the Guy What Brung Me - Rexine Hudson
You Don't Like It, Not Much - Margaret Cleaver
Sleepy Time Gal - Clytie Scheriner
Me and My Boy Friends - Hazel Wallace
We All Scream for Ice Cream - "Dutch" Grove
Dainty Miss - Dorothy Bishop
Reuben, Reuben, I've Been Thinking - Maxine Rosenthal
My Blue Heaven - High School
Nobody Knows What A Red-Haired Girl Will Do - Esterbelle Mercer
I'm Nobody's Sweetheart Now - Helen Harms
We Love the College Boys - Ethel L. Schmidt
Beautiful - Opinions Vary
Broken Hearted - Anne Osicka
Is She My Girl Friend ? - Bob Kenaga
Dream Kisses - Decide for Yourself
Tomorrow - Senior Class
On Old Dixon - Chamber of Commerce
Together - Hilliker and Bovey
Side By Side - Helen and Eddie
The Song is Ended, but the Melody Lingers On - Seniors, June 1st
Spring Fever - D.H.S. Students in May
Sometimes I'm Happy - Dick McNicol
What Do We Do On a Dew-Dew-DewyDay - Football Squad
Just Another Day Wasted Away - Day before Vacation

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Copyright 2004 Christine Walters for Genealogy Trails
Contributed "With Many Thanks" by Ora Flaningam