1922 Flappers, Farm Animals, and Future Dreams

 

Flappers, Farm Animals, and Future Dreams: 5 Surprising Lessons from a 100-Year-Old High School Yearbook

1. Introduction: The 1922 Time Capsule

Cracking open a century-old yearbook is a tactile experience that bridges the gap between generations. The Echo, published by the Students of Hillsboro High School in 1922, is more than just ink on aging paper; it is a meticulously preserved record of a West Virginia community on the cusp of the modern age. As a digital archivist, one can’t help but notice the physicality of the source—from the formal group portraits in stiff collars to the curious descriptions of "complexions" that range from "pimento" to "battleship grey."

Under the steady hand of Principal Walter Vance, Hillsboro High operated with a lean, pragmatic structure. Students chose from three primary paths: Academic, Normal, or Agricultural. While the "Normal Course" was a rigorous pipeline designed to produce educators with "first grade Teachers' Certificates," the spirit of the students often escaped the boundaries of their curriculum. Within these pages, we find a generation that was, in their own words, "green but may ripen."

2. Takeaway 1: Career Goals Were Either "Teacher" or "Movie Star" (With No In-Between)

In 1922, professional life for a Hillsboro graduate was a study in contrasts. On one hand, you had the practical "Normal Training" track, where students like Motie Kidd (the yearbook’s Editor) prepared to "teach education in a deaf and dumb school." On the other, you had the "Class Prophecy"—the 1920s equivalent of a TikTok dream—where Hollywood was the ultimate, distant glamour.

The "Senior Class Statistics" reveal ambitions that were either profoundly humble or wonderfully absurd. While Ivan "Mutt" McKeever listed his ambition as "To rob the cradle" and Leeta "Rat" Beard wanted "To extract the 'Jim' from a Jim crow car," many others were looking toward the silver screen. In 1922, cinema was the burgeoning frontier of celebrity, and these rural students were captivated.

Forrest Warren ... Ambition: To be a flower presser. (Prophecy: A Movie Director at Long Island Sound).

Lakie Hill ... Ambition: To inherit a powder puff factory. (Prophecy: Last, but not least, was Lakie Hill, and I saw a very beautiful lady who was a Movie Star of world-wide note).

Even the boys were bit by the bug; Harper Beard listed his primary ambition as "To be the husband of a movie actress."

3. Takeaway 2: The Original "Burn Book" was Actually the School Yearbook

If you believe "roast culture" is a modern invention, the "Sophomore Characteristics" table and "Classified Ads" in The Echo will be a revelation. The students of 1922 possessed a biting, sophisticated wit, frequently using the yearbook to poke fun at their peers' physical traits, romantic escapades, and academic struggles.

While the "Classified Ads" offered playful jabs—like the notice of "For sale—All my knowledge" by Rat Bruffey or Harper’s public request for "A sure way to win Nancy"—the "Sophomore Characteristics" table was where the real social commentary lived. It didn't just list nicknames; it predicted a future based on current flaws.

Frank Harper ... Occupation: Playing hooky. Probably Will Be: A bed manufacturer. Favorite Expression: "I am sleepy."

Gail Auldridge ... Nickname: "Pig." Occupation: Giggling. Probably Will Be: Horse trader. (The boys accuse him of wearing a wig).

Even the most studious weren't safe. Gyle Pyles (whose name appears as "Cyle" in the staff list, a classic period typo) was noted as being "sure to pass" examinations, yet the "Class Poem" notes that if he keeps up his studious way, "he will make a great president some day."

4. Takeaway 3: Sports Journalism was Brutally Honest (and Poetic)

Modern sports reporting is often scrubbed of personality, but the 1922 "Basket Ball" recaps were refreshingly—and sometimes brutally—transparent. The students didn't hide behind "corporate speak" when they lost; they leaned into the drama of the defeat.

The 56 to 33 loss against Hinton wasn't spun as a close game; it was immortalized in a poem that admitted the team simply met their betters. However, while they were honest about the scoreboard, the students maintained a high level of social "clout." This is best seen by contrasting the athletic reports with the "Class Will," where the seniors' self-image remained untouched by their win-loss record.

Two months we practiced and practiced to beat, But down at Hinton we met our defeat, We scored 33 points right to the letter, But their's happened to be twenty-three points better.

Despite being "beaten" on the court, the Seniors used their "Class Will" to bequeath their "ability to sing" and their "good looks" to the Juniors, proving that social status in the halls of Hillsboro was far more important than a trophy in the case.

5. Takeaway 4: Literary Societies Were the Ultimate Social Status

In 1922, the core of student extracurricular life wasn't found on the field, but in the Browning and Shakespeare Literary Societies. These weren't niche clubs for the bookish; they were the dominant social structures of the school, boasting memberships that included nearly every student on the roster, from Quade Arbogast to Lola Stewart.

The school "Calendar" is a testament to their influence. These societies didn't just read—they competed in everything from basketball games to public plays like Professor Pepp. Their meetings were the primary social engine of the school, often featuring more participants than the athletic teams themselves. To be a member of the Shakespeares or the Brownings was to be at the center of the Hillsboro universe, where performing a "Lyceum number" carried as much weight as scoring a basket.

6. Takeaway 5: Agriculture Was a Hands-On, "Hard Nut to Crack"

The "Agricultural" course at Hillsboro, operating under the supervision of the Smith-Hughes Vocational Board, was a world away from modern classroom theory. This was vocational training in its most literal, visceral sense. When the "Farm Animals Class" met, they weren't just looking at diagrams; they were in the field.

The arrival of the new agriculture teacher, Mr. Greer, in January 1922 marked a continuation of a curriculum that was deeply tied to rural survival. The "Calendar" entries for November and December provide a startling look at the school day:

Nov 2. Horrors of Hallowe'en. Baked skunk.

Nov 17. Farm Animals Class attend Dr. Luder's butchering demonstration at Mr. Kidd's.

Dec 7. Farm Animals Class kill a pig for Mr. Flynn.

For these students, school wasn't an escape from rural life, but a mastery of it. While the "Junior Acrostic" claimed that "History is a hard nut to crack"—likely because they were cramming for those first-grade Teachers' Certificates—the real-world lessons of the Smith-Hughes program were the backbone of their education.

Conclusion: The Echoes of 1922

As we close the cover of The Echo, we are left with a profound sense of the "green but growing" nature of youth. These students, with their "Henna," "High brown," and "Whito wash" complexions, were grappling with the same anxieties we see in today's digital feeds: the desire to be seen, the fear of failing a Latin test, and the dream of a life far beyond their small town.

In their "Class Will," they left behind their "poor and unfinished subjects" and "bad reports held by the teachers," a perfect sentiment for anyone standing at the end of their high school career. A century from now, when archivists look back at our own "yearbooks"—our social media archives—will they find the same sharp wit and "unfinished subjects"?

As the 1922 Freshmen motto reminds us: we may start green, but the goal is always to ripen.