Atascadero High School - Santa Lucia Yearbook (Atascadero, CA)

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THE LOVE STORY OF MR. AL. G. BRA MARIAN V. OLDSON, '29 Mr. Al G. Bra, who was an earnest, conscientious young man, was desper- ately in love with llfliss E. Quation, who, at this time, was deeply infatuated with another, who had a rather large diameter, but still Mr. Al G. Bra knew the whims of women, and given time, he was sure he could supplant his rival in her affections. . And so, in factoring a way in which to make Miss E. Quation give up her unknown, he decided he must think of a way to make his rival become merely a substitute to be easily discarded when so desired. Soon after, Mr. Al G. Bra proceeded' to tri-angle after angle of her heart and mind so that he might subtract her attention from her unknown admirer and add to her respect and love for him. Then, also, he saw that he must, in some manner, divide his opponent's forces and multiply his own opportunities of seeing Miss E. Quation. Mr. Al G. Bra, not missing an opportunity of letting Miss E. Quation know of his suit, sent to her daily a lovely bouquet of violets bearing the simple message: As sweet as you, dear. ALGERNON. The task that he had set himself was a great one, but, knowing that he would be dismal Qdecimalj without her, he fell to work with a will and finally cast out his exponent, Who, he told her, is a poor figure of a man, for he has leaner flinearj measurements than I thought he had. Proceeding on simple operative facts, he at last succeeded in brushing the wrecked angle frectanglej from his path and so found that he had wooed and won. Thus it endeth: They lived happily ever after. WESTERN MOUNTAINS DUDLEY Tluccs, '30 From austere heights above the clouds, To every lowly round-topped hill, Dear mountains of the Western coast, I love your every nook and rill. The little streams that start from snow That melts upon some snow-capped peak And join again in rivers broad That How into the ocean deep, Are dear to me because they start From mountains dear unto my heart. The animals that roam your side, Where pine and spruce abundant grow, The birds that dwell Where oak trees are And where the little streamlets go- So dear to me are all of these: The animals, the birds, and trees. J So mountains tall and mountains broad That look out on the western sea, You are the dwelling place of God And therefore you appeal to me.

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As the selection continued, the pianist got more and more excitedg his hands dashed back and forth over the keys like race horses. You could not see his fingers, for they moved from one place to another with such speed. All of the instruments in the orchestra were increasing their tempog arms and notes were whirling around in the air above the players. The music was like the thundering of the elements during a storm, or the booming of the guns during a battle. The violins shrieked and rent the air, the cymbals clashed like the falling of Tarpeias shields. The horns tooted and whistled, while the drums boomed. The leader's hair was awry, his baton swishing through the air like a live thing. Suddenly he gave a grand sweep of his baton and the music stopped. The oppressive silence that followed was short, for almost at once there came a thunderous burst of applause, that sounded like the waves breaking on a rocky shore during the storm. ' INDIAN SUMMER JANE DUSSARD, '28 The peaceful little valley lay in the misty, silver and gold haze of Indian ghost fires at noontide. Drowsy, dreamy silence reigned. Golden wheat fields dotted here and there with purple asters rustled sleepily in the sunshine. Tall poplars dotted the valley, and on the hillside silvery birch, purple grapes and scar- let maples surrounded a gray house, nestled in the mellow silence. A wisp of smoke curled lazily from its chimney. Now and then the peaceful calm was bro- ken by a scurrying squirrel or a droning bee. The world seemed to be dreaming. Even the woodpecker had ceased drumming, and the jay's mockeries were still. The only moving object in sight was an old Italian trudging down the dusty road with his hand organ and monkey. He, too, seemed to be dreaming, dreaming of sunny Italy and prismatic Naples--perhaps even dreaming of his boyhood days on the side of Mt. Vesuvius, and of an elfish, Madonna-eyed little playmate. CONCERNING ADVERTISEMENTS PATRICIA Tiuocs, '30 In most of the magazines there are just as many advertisements as there are stories. Most of the ads scare a person half to death. The Listerine people make you think you are sure to get a sore throat and die any minute. The cold cream companies make you think you have a perfectly terrible complexion, and the shampoo people must think everyone has long, straggly, unruly hair. To read a story in a magazine without getting all mixed up in the advertise- ments is quite an accomplishment. Often one has an experience like this. The story reads- Mary was out walking in the snow with her dog, Buster. As they walked along Buster saw a cat and started to chase it, but Mary called him back and said warningly: 'Pyorrhea's grim record is 4 out of 5.' Buster had a good time chasing the rabbits which have a skin you love to touch. Suddenly he heard screams from afar and he knew his mistress had fallen through the cool and refreshing ice into the river. He started to run for the river, but he kept getting mixed up with Beauty Aids, dainty new ways to remove cold cream, and cough drops, and so he finally arrived just in time to see those tailored zippers which add such a smart touch to your costume, sticking up in the air. Buster took hold of one leg with his glistening white teeth, made clean by Pepsodent, and pulled with all the Three in One Oil in him. Mary came up smiling, with that engaging mouth of youth. She took hold of Buster's hair, which was of the finest kind of macaroni, and he pulled her to safety.

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EQUUS CABALLUS SIVALENSIS ARDEN LICHTY, '28 It was a typical summer's day on the Bar X ranch-the sun at its highest point beating down with merciless rays on the ranch buildings, and not a breath of air stirring-an ordinary Arizona summer's day, for sure. The quiet and undisturbed peace which had settled over the ranch was quite in accord with the non-energy-raising weather, in fact, the only sign of life near the buildings was that made by the few horses kept in the corral by the barn. Finally, however, a man emerged from the bunk-house and casually strolled over to another building, which, judging from its appearance, was the mess- house. The man happened to be Shorty lVIcDougal, just an ordinary, rather lazy- looking cowboy. As he entered the door he greeted a large, elderly man in the rear busied with the task of Washing the dinner dishes. Pop Stevens, the cook, was one of those genial souls who got along with everyone, especially cowboys, since he had been one himself before he retired to this higher profession. Where're all the boys, Pop? Shorty remarked, as he sauntered over to where the cook was working. You'd think there was a funeral around here or something of the sort. They're all down the gully watchin' the Professor, the cook replied. Two days before there had arrived at the ranch a party of zoologists com- posed of Professor Elias Dingley, his assistant, and several workmen. They had stated that it was the opinion of the university scientists that the basin in which the Bar X ranch lay was the logical region for excavation in search of the skele- tons of animals which had lived some hundred thousand years ago. As Pop Ste- vens explained it, The Professor claims that the animals used to come down to the arroyo to drink and he reckons they sank in the mud and have been buried there all this time, or some such idea as that. Let's go out and see the doin's ourselves, suggested Shorty. Pop agreed and a few minutes later the two were riding along the arroyo in search of the excavating party. They did not have far to go, for in a short time they saw a large group of cowboys and ranchmen gathered down by a spring watching the singular proceedings. The professor was assisting the workmen with pick and shovel and even some of the cowboys, interested in the idea, were working in the shallow pit that had been started. For the better part of an hour they dug away in vain--loosening nothing but dirt, rocks and shale. Some of the onlookers had left in disgust and Pop and Shorty were about to go when the Professor gave an exclamation of delight. His last shovelful of dirt had uncovered a long, gray bone imbedded in the earth. At last, he shouted, our efforts have been rewarded. This is merely a part of the skeleton of some unknown beast which roamed these parts centuries ago. Within a few minutes, if all goes well, we shall uncover the complete skele- ton of this priceless animal. Sure enough, this bone proved to be only a part of the leg of the animal and finally the entire remains were unearthed and spread to the view of the on- lookers. There on the ground was the unmistakable skelton of an animal about seven feet long-distinctly showing ribs, head, and legs. The strange part of it was, though, that by the side of this set of bones there was another, much smaller. At this point the Professor adjusted his spectacles and said, This, my friends, is probably one of the most remarkable discoveries along this line ever made. The large skeleton, I judge, is a forerunner of the specie Equus Sivalensis. As to the smaller, I have yet to choose between two theories. It may be that it was a younger member of the same type or on the other hand it might have been entirely different and the two engaged in mortal combat when they were ensnared here.