Clifton Springs High School - Cliftonian Yearbook (Clifton Springs, NY)

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THE CLIFTONIAN 17 4-H CLUB The Wide-a-Wake 4-H Club, the senior club of Clifton Springs, under the leadership of Miss Monteau, has been taking the home project, Elementary Foods, which is a study of the classes of foods and the different methods of preparing them. The Senior Club has alternate Supper Nights and business meetings. Every other Monday we prepare a simple meal in the laboratory, sometimes inviting members of the faculty to join us. Each girl has a certain task to perform in preparing and serving the meal. By taking different work each time, every girl learns each step in the preparation of the menu. There is usually a demonstration given by two or more of the girls. A recreational period follows both supper and business meetings. The business meetings are held in Miss Mon-teau’s office. Here we discuss any business which may come up and plan the next Supper Night. We try to plan a balanced meal each time, taking in our studies of the properties of foods. The Cheerio 4-H Club, the junior club, under the leadership of Miss Jones, is taking the junior project, Home Making I, slightly emphasizing foods. They also have alternate Supper Nights and business meetings, coming on Thursdays. Several members from each club are planning to attend the 4-H Camp, which is held at Point Rochester on Canandaigua Lake, some time in August. It is with this object in view that we have our benefit movies and food sales. Next year, with the equipment in the new school, 4-H work will prepare the girls for the course in Domestic Science. We have been handicapped, this year, by lack of ovens and proper cooking equipment. I think 4-H work is very helpful to the girls who are sufficiently interested to work in it, because it teaches sewing, cooking, interior decorating and many other things which will be useful in later years. MARJORIE WEBB. Disappointment There are words enough for the hero Who dwells on the heights of fame; I write for the disappointed— For those who lost their aim. I write with a tearful cadence For one who stands in the dark, And knows that his last best arrow Has bounded back from the mark. I write for the breathless runner The eager, anxious soul, Who falls with his strength exhausted, Almost in sight of his goal; For the hearts that break in silence, With a sorrow all unknown, For those who need companions, Yet walk their ways alone. There are words enough for the lovers Who share love’s tender pain, I write for the one whose passion Is given all in vain; For those whose spirit-comrades Have missed them on the way, I write, with reluctant pen These tragic lines today. But I know the constellation Must somewhere keep in space Blue ribbons for the runner Who barely lost the race; For the plan would be imperfect Unless it held some sphere That paid for the toil and talent And love that are wasted here. ALICE E. WIEMER ’30. TRAGEDY Three pigs set out On the way to town A hoggin’ the road, my dear. One pig was black Another brown The third was white, ’tis clear. Along came a farmer In his coupe And honked for the pigs to get out of the way. The pigs didn’t get And the Ford was wrecked And so were the pigs, they say. DORIS CASE ’29

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16 Red Light (By Alice R. Miller, English I) Dr. Fuller, who had been in practice for many years suggested that Louise, his niece, become a nurse. Her mother shuddered at the thought. College was the place for a girl of seventeen. Her father, however, was very much delighted at the idea and sent at once for information about the Baston Training School for nurses. Louise was happy. She was going to be a nurse; how much fun it would be to see operations and take care of nice people! She entered the training school in September. There would be three, long years of hard training before she could be a nurse, yet she was strong enough to stand it. Two years passed quickly; she had had a little of everything and was enjoying every moment of it. She was now on night duty; one floor to take care of, with twenty-four patients on the floor. It kept Louise pretty busy. At two o’clock one morning, a man who had been suffering great pain decided he could stand it no longer so took his razor from the table nearby and cut the veins in his wrist. Seeing the blood shoot forth, he feared death and again wished to live. He rang his bell, and Louise hurried to his room. She checked the bell and turned on the lights. The man’s bed was covered with blood, and he was dead. Louise turned the light out and locked the door, placing the key on her desk. She did not change a thing in his room because the coroner would have to come. Going on with her duties, she was kept busy until four o'clock. Louise walked down the hall —and the dead man’s red light went on! Quickly Louise ran to her desk in search of the key. It was lying just where she had placed it. What could it be? Could he have come to life again? There surely was enough blood on his bed to prove that he had bled to death. Louise shuddered at the thought of entering the room alone. She must be brave. “Oh, I can, I must,” she whispered. She heard a door THE CLIFTONIAN squeak. The cold chills went up her spine. Was it the dead man walking? It was absurd for her to think of such things. Louise called the night float (a nurse ready to do anything in case of accident). The two nurses, being afraid to enter, called the man’s private doctor, his assistant and the coroner. After hearing the story none would enter. Some one MUST. Louise unlocked the door. It was silly to be afraid of a dead person. He could not harm one. She entered the room, turned on the light, and glanced at the bed. Everything was just as she had left it. Why would the bell be on? She neared the bed and saw the bell in the man’s hand. He had clutched it as he died, and after the nurse turned out the light he had still held it. After death when the muscles contracted, the light again went on. So after all, a dead man really lit the red light. RESTITUTION These days are full— And though they speeding Pass us by— Each day with routine filled, When we look back, we feel How hectic—and we sigh. Sorrows and joys in quick succession Fill our lives;—we cannot see, We do not know that years beyond We shall look upon these As days most free. And ever and anon, we feel The years are richer growing With promises of other fields For our knowledge’s bestowing. Though days are sometimes sadly long And nights pass all too quickly, When we look back, we are surprised To see what progress strewed them thickly; And yet, they say “be constant”—; Look not back—but ahead. I think it gives us greater strength To see where other actions led! ALICE E. WIEMER ’30 Even for lazy people—Wrigley’s gum.

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THE CLIFTONIAN 18