Project Editor: Kimberly Kraska, UCARE, 2007

Project Editor: Kimberly Kraska, UCARE, 2007

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Our Preps

I have been asked to write a history of my class, 1894, and although the request embarrassed me considerably at first, I managed to brace up with a couple of trial bottles of nerve tonic, and am now on deck. In case there are any serious errors in this history do not charge them to my account. I cannot maintain that all herein is truthful and correct, because I am not entirely responsible. You see, I cannot write myself, and am obliged to employ a Sophomore as an amanuensis. I can scarcely repose in him all the confidence and clinging trustfulness that I could wish.

I was plowing corn one day in Douglas county, and the plow struck against a rock, breaking the handles of the instrument, and also making one of the horses cross-eyed from the shock. My father was so enraged that he shingled me-not my hair either-and used some violent language of a very personal nature. This wounded me severely. He then informed me that I was too great a fool to ever make a decent farmer, and that he should have to send me to the University to train my mind. So mother packed up my lay-down collar and store-clothes, and I entered Lincoln on the top of a load of hay. I noticed that every one was glad to see me, and was slightly surprised to find that they all knew that I was the country.

I went up to the University, and paid a solemn man five dollars. He then showed me into chapel, and I listened to the choir sing. It was not worth five dollars either; but they say living in a city is expensive.

After chapel I went into a room where there were a lot of boys writing with great speed and lead pencils. A lady gave me a look of welcome and a paper with directions to write down all I knew about arithmetic. This took me almost ten minutes, and fatigued me greatly. The lady then seized the paper with an affectionate gesture, fetched me a clip on the side of the head with a Latin dictionary, inserted my name in a large book, flung the ink bottle at me, gave me a huge yellow card that looked like a small-pox warning, and, after telling me that I was a full-fledged, conditioned first

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The first term of my prep existence, I was terribly afraid of the tutors. I never spoke to them without making a salaam and putting dust on my head. The second term, I became careless, and when the tutor in German fired his stock-shell, "I will not speak to you about that again," into my unguarded camp, I fainted on the floor and the seat of my Sunday pants. I was resuscitated with much difficulty, and when I did recover, I was not profited by what should have been an awful lesson to me.

The third term, I chewed gum, threw paper wads at the tutors, wrote notes to the girls, learned to play marbles for keeps with the freshmen, drank all my milk without using the rubber tube on the bottle, and did many other things that I may be sorry for some day.

At present I am pursing a very luxurious course indeed. I have been left only twenty-seven times since the first of April-nineteen times on the same girls-and am becoming quite a society man. Nevertheless I should like to be a freshman. It is unpleasant and mortifying to go into a barber's shop and hear Sam call out, "Well, my little man, do you want your hair cut?" I don't know what he does it for. I think I look almost as old as the members of the girl's fraternity. But I will be a freshman some day, and then I will tear things loose at a lively rate, I can assure you.

This may appear to be an individual history, and not that of a class. "Appearances are deceitful." I have examined into the matter, and am convinced that every prep has to endure just such a life as I have depicted. So, what is true of one holds good for all.