The Passing of Ingham High

(In commemoration of what Ingham High has meant, and what it will mean without it.)

When the twenty-first of May did appear
It marked the passing of one that is dear.
For the Old Ingham High has met her fate,
And closed her doors upon that date.
No more will the boys flock in the store,
Discussing the game of the night before.
How if Wayne, Lloyd, John or Jim
Would have caught that ball that was passed to him,
We’d have won that game, Yes-sir-ee,
For we only lost by one point, don’t you see?
Nor will the pep girl’s voice be heard,
Cheering them on with no silent word.
But doing their best to make them win,
And taking it fine, but at times on the chin.
We will miss all this but more serious by far,
Is sending our students in towns that might mar
Perhaps their good character, more precious than gold,
For there are temptations for both young and old.
We may boast of our dollars we are saving right here,
But they are the cheap things altho we may hold them dear.
For the soul of a child is more precious by far,
Than all of this world’s goods, no matter where they are.
Well, Old Ingham High, you have not been in vain.
We are proud of your record, and have no room to complain.
Your students are numbered by the score,
and they are located from shore to shore
Some are doing their bit for Uncle Sam
In Africa, Alaska, China or perhaps soon in Japan.
Others are, well we don’t know where,
For that is a secret and so, there,
But wherever they are their spirits are true,
And each one is loyal to the red, white and blue.
You have given them your best, they’ll say that themselves
They’re all going strong, and are not laid on the shelves.
To the teachers who labored, we will not forget
How you labored under obstacles, we can remember it yet.
But you came out victorious, as if it were fun.
And stayed on the job until it was done.
Now friends, don’t despair, neither murmur nor cry,
For we know very well it’s only the materials that die.
And when the walls mildew as mildew they will,
When the old bell is silent, up there on the hill,
When hail has beaten the roofs so they leak,
When the plaster has fallen and things look bleak,
When the cows pick the grass where the children once played
And you and I in some churchyard are laid,
You never will know the good you have done,
Perhaps it’s a daughter but it may be a son,
Till the books are opened and there on the page
Is brought to light, where some sin of the age
May have tried to fasten it’s [sic] deadly sting
On some boy or girl perhaps out for a fling
But was kept from it’s [sic] purpose by the lesson you taught.
’Twas well worth the price, however high bought.
It’s hard to conceive when we sit down and think
That this community is right on the brink.
Well, we’ll let you guess, you may be right,
But to some people, it does not look bright,
When Mother and Dad are all that is here,
No children to run in, and ask Mother dear
For a piece of that cake you baked for our meal,
Or perhaps they may want a turn at the wheel,
To take in a game, a party or show
For they are the live ones and sure like to go.
But now we can sit and twiddle our thumbs,
No children to pester, and if nobody comes
We can still be wondering why that we
Have to be so lonesome and less carefree
Like we were when the Old Ingham High
Used to put the pep in us just to watch the kids go by.
Well, what we are trying to say right here,
Is: To the hearts of her students, she will still remain dear,
So, Farewell old friend may you still live on.
And may you enjoy the memory of victories won
In the hearts of your lovers great or small,
Till God in His kindness, doth us recall.

—Ely C. Stinnette