Image provided by: The Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde; Grand Ronde, OR
About Weekly Chemawa American. (Chemawa, Or.) 189?-198? | View Entire Issue (July 17, 1908)
8 l'HE CHEMAWA AMERICAN A JUNIOR'S DREAM. One evening as I idly thought of school days long ago, A mist-seemed o'er my vision drifting; I saw my classmates' faces, I heard their voices low. First I seemed on board a steamer, Eugene Williams stood on its deck; He was a captain of the ocean liner, Short and sturdy and erect. Then the scene was changed a little, Along the streets of a city I seemed to walk; At the door of a large millinery store, With Katie Henry I stopped to talk. Then in Europe I was wandering, Paris was the town I knew, I caught a glimpse of Lizzie Beaver, Then Leon Reinken, my classmate, too. Then on the baseball field I gazed, Thinking of good times in the dormitory; For long and loud the cheers were raised, For the great pitcher, Thomas J. McCully. And next into a high school room I locked. There stood the teacher at her desk ; Yes, Sara Brewer, was the teacher, Trying, as in school, to do her best. And again I saw the leader of a woman's club, Vernie Cliff, as I could plainly see; And at her desk there was a girl I knew, Twas her secretary, Margaret Lowry. And next I saw the president of an odd club, Ed. McClellan, as I could plainly see, And his secretary was Clarence Lewis, Who at his desk looked natural to me. Switzerland's beauties next appeared to me And at a famous Alpine inn I saw the two well-remembered trackers, Big Joe and Calvin Darnell were on the scene. Again 1 gazed into a schoolroom bright, This time it was a kindergarten room; Levi Sortor tried with main and might To teach the children what was right. Next, a mighty shouting I then heard, And saw a great crowd in a park; 'Twas Geo. J . Williams, the great politician, At whose eloquence I could not help remark. And then into a city power house I looked, There stood the boss right at his post; Yes, Fred Lewis was the boss, Trying as always, to do his very best. And then in Boston to a concert great I went, And heard two wonderfully great musicians play, None other than our old friend Walter Miller And our other classmate, Alex Cajete. Then as the occasion became a little brighter, Into a cozy city home I seemed to peer; There sat John McCush and Michel Wilson, Great writers with pens behind their ears. Next a bugle call 1 heard, It rang out loud and clear; I saw General Albert Garry Fighting for his country dear. . Then in a lawyer's office next I saw, There swiftly writing with his pen, Sat Loulin Brewer, the great lawyer 1 thought of school days again. Alas! the vision fades softly away. And I see not my classmates dear; I see only life's clear reality But in mind these words 1 hear: "Oh! here's to the class the Juniors This class of nineteen-nine; We'll try to do our best in life's pathway, And to success we'll endeavor to climb." Juniors yet, we need not say farewell, Another year ere school life will be past; Then we'll wish each other well And friendship's faith will still hold fast. Thomas G. Holden, '09. "Affection for children is an Indian characteristic, ' says Dr. Charles S. Moody of Idaho. kl have never seen an Indian Mother or Father punish a child, nor have I ever seen an Indian child cry. An Indian child never sobs when hurt. Just an extra snap of the bright black eyes and a slight frown is all to indicate to the observed that the little fellow is suffering. I have never heard even an Indian baby cry." Port land Journal.