One hundred years ago, the Howe High School Class of 1919 had six graduating seniors including one senior boy. Paul Patterson Shelley, son of Dr. J.L. Shelley served as the editor-in-chief of the yearbook which contained his autobiography where he describes his school days in Howe and the scenes of Ol’ Howe High a century ago.
In next week’s edition of the Howe Enterprise, we will compare and contrast the Howe High School Class of 1919 and the Howe High School Class of 2019. We’ll tell the story about the 1918-19 Howe football team, girls basketball team, and a heated junior-senior rivalry. We’ll also let you know “the rest of the story” about Paul Patterson Shelley and what he made of his life after HHS graduation 100 years ago.
The autobiography of Paul Patterson Shelley – from The Argus, 1919.
“On a certain cool October morning in ’76, there was a great deal of noise and confusion in the little house across the street, for a seven and one-half baby boy had been born to the young doctor and his wife.
But I don’t mean in the year 1876 – I am not so old as all that – but in the picturesque little village of Seventy-Six Falls in the Blue Grass region of old Kentucky.
The noise, they say, was caused by myself while the confusion was caused by the happy parents and relations, trying to find things with which to amuse me.
During the first few years of my life, nothing very interesting happened except the getting of a fine set of teeth of which in obtaining I had showed the family I possessed a fine and remarkable pair of lungs.
The first memorable event of my life was moving to Texas. The second my beginning school while at the age of seven. I left the realm of home to traverse the realm of unknown.
School life at first entertained me but soon I grew tired and longed for the time to be when I could sleep until after seven and play when it suited my fancy. But alas for me, this could not be, for I had entered a land from which I could not turn back – the land of life’s responsibilities.
At the age of twelve there came into my life the one girl (so I thought then), and I longed for the time to come when I could throw away school books and become a “cowboy” or a “soldier of fortune” and perform such deeds of chivalry that the ancient knights of Queen Elizabeth would blush for shame or perform such fetes of “Bronco busting” that Bill Cody would have knelt before me.
But none of these fanciful dreams came true, so I had to make the best of school life studying the hard geography and the multiplication table; and what could have done more to dampen the spirits of a would be hero.
But the great ambition, aim of my life, was to be a surgeon; and of course with much money and many friends. But my father says at the present rate of my progress I am more destined for the section gang and no money than for a medical career.
When I was thirteen and a freshie my ambition was to graduate with the highest possible honors. But after an encounter with my Latin grammar and partaking of a little Algebra all of the starch was taken out of me and left my ambition – to merely graduate. At last, however, I passed my Cerebus; freshman finals and awoke to find myself a sophomore. Three years yet to help in the hazing of all freshman; also to help edit the school magazine; which was a real honor for a sophomore. I soon found that thing that a sophomore was intended for was to play servants to the seniors. On account of my red hair, I had to perform many tasks. But even sophomore year finally crept into the past and at last, I had only one year to finish before I obtained the long wished, the time when I could be a senior and hold my head with an air of dignity and order the freshies around as I had once been ordered.
September 1918 a senior in the Howe High School. The long goal is at least reached only to find myself on a dizzy height where I was at a loss what to do. Also to find that my aim is not yet completed for there are nine months yet. Nine months of hard work and tiresome waiting between it and me. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth the struggle, the energy spent in obtaining it. Why not voice the old sentiment., “Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow you may die.”
To be continued in Monday’s publication…
