Iowa Heritage Digital Collections
State Library of Iowa

1915 Yearbook

1915 Yearbook


1915 Yearbook


BALLAD of the broken door.
There lived in days forever gone
Among the third floor clan
A hermit of the junior class,
His name was simply—Van.
A modest man in all was he,
He had no gift of gab,
Because he rolled along so nice
We always called him Cab.
Although he smoked, t'was very rare,
(It later proved his doom)
But twice a year he went with friends
Down to the smoking room.
All things went well 'till one fine day
A brand new pipe he bought,
And when the shades of night had come
The smoking room he sought.
Great clouds of smoke soon filled the
He blew them high, and higher,
'Till someone in the room remarked
That Cabbie was on fire.
He started for the outside quick
But Cab with muffled roar
Was at his heels and soon the two
Were speeding toward the door.
The big glass door was open wide,
(It was a dandy race)
But as the culprit beat it through
He closed it in Cab's face.
An awful crash—then showers of glass
Pell quickly to the floor.
For Cab's clenched fist with force
Had smashed the Smoker door.
Oh, somewhere in this land of ours
The sun is shining bright
And somewhere doors are wooden ones
And somewhere hearts are light.
But clouds of gloom have settled o'er
Our hero ever since,
For when the day of reck'ning came
His bill was ninety cents.
—J. M. C, Collegiate '14
'Twas the day before Orals
And all through the school
This boarder was wandering,
Like a poor, wretched fool.
He idled and waited—
Believe this, my rhyme—
Because, as he stated,
He had stocks of time.
Then he started in the morning,
In the cool and dewy morning,
Then he started in the morning
Out to run his oldtime bluff.
But without a note of warning,
Yea, without the slightest warning,
The professors came upon him,
To try his mental stuff.
They were students, were these masters,
Were these sharp, exacting masters,
And with problems deep did they try him
To find out what he did know.
And they pried upon his knowledge,
On his frail and feeble knowledge,
And they tossed him fore and aft, sir,
Tuck and keel, and to and fro.
It was at the little table
Too well known to need a label,
It was at the little table,
That this boarder got the rush.
Got the rush and was defeated
By these masters was defeated
In a contest fast and heated.
Then there fell an awful hush.
Not a word or gesture made he,
Not a moment stopped nor stayed he,
Not a minute then delayed he,
But he headed for the door.
While a small and merry master
Sent a challenge following after.
On he fled, midst stifled laughter,
And his college days were o'er.

Of all the sad things
Said or hinted.
The saddest are those
We might have printed.




St. Ambrose University, 518 W. Locust St., Davenport, IA 52803