CUMTUX
Juniors pgs. 42 to 47

 

pgs. 42 & 43


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JUNIOR CLASS OFFICERS:

Ralph Smith, President          Laura Gignilliat, V-President
Robson Travis, Sec. and Treas.

MOTTO:

"Not finished, just begun."

COLORS:
Purple & Gold
FLOWER:
Gladiola

 

CLASS ROLL:

Hugh Aiken Claire Jones
Francis Amos Wayne Jones
Hazel Amos Burford Johnson
Margaret Ballard Alice Lunceford
Ila Burns Margaret Manor
Boykin Carruthers Frederick MacGregor
Elsbeth Busk Eloise Miller
Anne Crofton Thomas Miller
Madeline Dent Eleanor Missildine
Ethel Davis Leona Newkirk
Albert Fendig Mitchell Owens
Herman Gay Blandelle Parker
Eugene Gignilliat Elizabeth Peters
Laura Gignilliat Richard Peters
George Gowen Mildred Phillips
Edward Gray William Potter
Norman Greene Mary Alice Powell
Majorie Harrison Edgar Ratcliffe
Sidney Harris Maude Riggsbee
Thelma Helwagen Anne Smith
Geneva Hendley Ralph Smith
Mary Higginbotham Lillian Smith
Mary Highsmith Margaret Tait
Pauline Hodges John Thomas
G.T. Holody Robert Travis
Mary Lois Johns Frank Vogel

Mary Wilson

 

pgs. 44 to 47

TO THE DEPARTING SENIORS

If an humble Junior might advise
    You departing Seniors, who are so wise,
He would beg for you to keep in mind
     Home and the school you're leaving behind.

Let all that you do measure up to your best.
     Work when you work, and when finished, rest.
At play be a sport, if you lose you must grin,
     And ne'er be so humble as the time when you win.

O Seniors!  Don't think that all is now won,
     You have not finished, you have just begun.
Though these rules be crude, you must take heed,
     And to you who are leaving, we bid you God speed.

--ALBERT FENDIG, Jr., '23

§

LIFE ON THE ROLLING RAILS, OR REMINISCENCES OF A HOBO

    Down in the lobby of one of the most promising hotels on the west side of Brunswick, the Double Deuce, that' the gang of Jud, Duke, Tub and Bud, had just finished listening to a hair-raising, heart-throbbing, hustling story about being shanghaied.  Capt. Billy Whizpuff, an ardent pipe-smoker, who could do more tricks with a bowl full of tobacco than an airplane could do in ten miles of space, told that yarn.  So it was absolutely up to the Double Deuce to stage a "come-back."  We had never been "floored" before and certainly it must not happen now.
     "Tell him how to hobo, Bud," ventured Tub.
     "Atta boy!"  agreed Jud.
     "Shoot!"  shot Duke.
     So Bud was at the bat and had to deliver the goods.  Pause a moment folks--this story is really strictly original, and if anyone has their doubts--oh, er--a--well you may just keep on having 'em.
     "It was up in lil 'ole Carolina Charleston," began Bud, "and the Double Deuce had just gotten their discharge from the honorable Navy.  We had bullion in our pockets plus our transportation home, and our spirits were in the highest pitch of glee."
     Says Jud, "I don't know why we have to spend our transportation money when it can easily be saved by traveling a la hobo!"
     "Some class to that boy's brains," came from Tub.
    We all agreed that that was a splendid idea from a Seaman Second-Class, and immediately we shipped our seabags from the nearest express house, Southeastern, I believe as Duke was Secretary of State to King Hobo in the years 1910-20, we unanimously acknowledged him our leader.  Savannah was our destination.  Forthwith, Duke went to the ticket agent at the depot and procured all the necessary data and dope.  Such as the number of the track the train would be on, what time she left, and if on time, etc.  Duke then dispatched us under some box cars down hear the locomotives of the various trains ready to leave.
     At 12:10 a.m., our train pulled in on track five.  She was the first section of the Florida Special, and makes one stop at Yemassee, S.C., for water, between Charleston and Savannah.  Quite a fast baby!  I never did mind speed though.  We were supposed to leave at 12:20 a.m., but a Pullman was put on the baggage car, and a new engine coupled on also.  On hearing the brakeman cry "all a-b-o-a-r-d!"  our muscles grew tense.  The bell was ringing, and mid the hiss of steam the train started to move.
    "Come on," shouted Duke, as he scrambled out from under the box car, and sprinted after the tender.
     Now Duke and I had on dungarees, while Tub and Jud were clad in undress blues.  It seems that in picking himself up, Tub broke five of the thirteen buttons on his pants.  Those buttons represent the thirteen original states, and I never have heard five states bawled out in such rapid-fire English as was done then.
     Well--we got on board at last and settled ourselves in a small heap on top of that tender, and hung on.
     The train picked up speed, rattled over crossings, switches and allowed the lights of Charleston to twinkle in the distance.  Smoke, dust, cinders and cool night air rushed and whistled past us, the cars rocked and swayed, but it was a great life!  We stayed in a rather cramped position for about ten hours it seemed to me.
    The Pullman that had been coupled between the baggage car and the engine certainly looked inviting.  I could almost hear it ask us to come in.  Finally, Tub suggested that we crawl over into the vestibule.  It was a good thing we didn't for just then the porter opened the door and took a look around.  He saw us not however, so we sighed relief and breathed easier.
     After a while Duke thought it would be safe enough to ride in the vestibule of that Pullman.  So one by one we crawled over to it.  The aviator that first changed planes in the air had his thrills, so did Columbus, but climbing around those cars was a different tale.  We had to keep our eyes half shut on account of the wind, cinders, and smoke.  The motion of that train jazzing along the track at sixty odd made you hang on for life or death.  I guess we hung on for life.  Besides it was night, and cats and owls are only supposed to see in the darkness.  The hoboing Double Deuce had no sooner made themselves as comfortable as possible in the vestibule, when the whistle shrieked its blasts to the sky.  She was blowing for the stop--Yemassee!
    Here was our best place to be caught.  Our pulses quickened, our hearts bumped excitement, the situation was indeed electrical.  The train came to a grinding stop.  Mr. Fireman climbed on the tender, and began to administer water to the thirsty boiler.  Luckily he was not busying his mid with thoughts of hoboes, for he was humming a tune about "My Sweetheart is Still Cold to Me Still," or something like that.  The engineer soon eased on the throttle again, and we were on our way once more.
     The members of the Double Deuce were quite tired now from all this intense vigil.  So by the process of elimination Tub was elected to keep watch.  The old train was rolling nicely now, knocking down some more sixty odd.  Music was sounding in our ears, that is the rhythmic click, clack, click, clack, ad infinitum of the car wheels over the rail joints.  I went to sleep about then, and knew nothing till Duke roused me and said we were nearing Savannah.  It was 3:45 a.m.  All trains back into Savannah, so when our bus had slowed down sufficiently, we hopped off, rolled over a few times, and shook off the surplus dust.
     Jubilantly the Double Deuce started walking in from the suburb.  We did not go far however, for a suspicioning cop halted us.
     "What are you fellas doin' on the streets this time of night?"
     "It's morning sir," said Duke, always equal to the occasion, "and we're only on one street!"
     I thought sure the arm of the law had collared us now, and I was quite scared.
     "Where ya from?"  asked the cop.
     "Charleston."
     "How dy'a get here?"
     "Oh, we walked and got "lifts" from autos," says Duke.
     "Just out of the Navy?"
     We showed him our discharges, and he told us to get off the street as quickly as possible, because Savannah was rough on guys out after twelve o'clock.
     I don't blame that cop one bit for stopping us.  A harder-looking specimen of a bum than we were, could not have been found in the United States.  One might have found our sperior [sic] in Russia, but they'd have to step some!  We were quite soiled--for the gravel of tow states, and all a train could kick up had accumulated on our beings.
     Instantly we repaired to the nearest restaurant, washed and fed our faces.  Take it from me, friends, don't hobo.  It's risky, tiresome and more, it's dangerous.

--FRANK VOGEL, '23

 

 

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