Decatur High School - Golden Memories Yearbook (Decatur, AL)

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DUR THE CALL OF MOTHER NATURE Working in her quiet, mysterious way, Mother nature comes each day To change in color, pattern, and every way, The designs she gave us yesterday. Leaves of green she has made A slightly darker ot lighter shade. Poppies may have a slightly brighter hue Which is not visible to me or you. As I wander through the fields in fall, I often wish that she would call: Come hither, my son, come here to me, And I will tell it all to thee. How I make the changes each day, How I Came in a mysterious way To make poppies have a brighter hue, Whence comes the wind, the use of dew.' But although I have listened every fall, I have never, never heard her call, Come hither, my son, come here to me, And I will tell it all to thee.', Often on a cool autumn morn Many sounds are on the clear air borne. I listen closely and-harkl No, it's the call of a meadow lark. As I continue my search each clay, I always hope I'll hear her say, Come hither, my son, come here to me, And I will tell it all to thee. -Millard Lenz. DAWN Have you ever seen the dawn As it creeps across the sky, I-Iow the colors flash and mingle As the darkness scatters wide? just so an act of kindness, In this world of strife and sin, Seems to cheer the broken-hearted And to lighten the cares of men. -Mildred Swatzell. L y VD LEAVES IN AUTUMN Summer ends, The time for reaping has come. Cold winds sweep around every corner Chilling each leaf on every tree. They tremble, quiver, then collapse. Their beautiful color seems to disappear, Instead, dull, darkened ones creep out And gently take their abode On the fast-dying leaves That were once the pride of the tree. The dry air makes them crisp, They crumble. Falling from the tree, a gust of wind Hurling by, lifts them into the air To be carried to the far beyond. Thus the tree is left standing bare To endure the hardships of winter. -Dorothy Rose Swatzell. MY MOTHERS HANDS They're growing old, yes, day by clay, But they still work the same sweet way, Doing things for me and all the rest, Because she knows that it is best. Her hands have held me since I was born, They made the first clothes I've ever worn. They have petted and spanked me through years But I've always loved them even through tears. They show years of work and toil for me, Years that can never, never again be, Years of hard work and roads of strife, So that I, her child, might have life. Each finger is thinner than in days past. My! but her time is passing so fast, Yet each line on that sweet rough hand, Will be smooth as silk in that Better Land. And yet when I meet her far up above, She'll greet me with a hand like a silkened glove But I know that through it all Iill see That they were once rough and red, because of me -Kathleen Brazelton. Page Twenty-six 3

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UR Tune: That Tumble-Down Shack In Aflzlonev fSure Old Ireland Is Calling To Mel VERSE: There is spring in the air and the world seems so tai Yet my heart is as sad as can be, For no more I'll abide here in Old Riverside On the banks of the Old Tennessee. CHoRUs: Ch! I'm leaving behind this old spot so divine, For I,ve finished my high school career. I am saying, Adieu,', to old friends tried and true And my teachers and chums I hold dear. Now there come to my memory things dear to me, I can scarce keep a tear from my eye. All those things dear to me I am leaving, you see And you DEAR DECATUR HI. CHARLES H. MURPHY. Page Twenty-five gina f fs- : ,

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CUR RY Students of history can easily remember the ninth day of September in the year nine- teen hundred twenty-eight, for that day marked the beginning of a voyage that is second only in importance to the sailing in fourteen hundred ninety-two. Up the gang plank clambered one hundred fifty undergraduates of the present Senior Class, all eagerly anticipating their first voyage on the S. S. Education. We were, as one could see at a glance, new in the businessv and needed some one to guide us away from the harbor. Our understanding grammar school teachers came to our assistance and gave us a gentle, but persistent push. As we have sailed further on our voyage, we have realized that we are truly obligated to those who, with such tolerance and patience, taught us the principles that formed a firm foundation for our later years. After six short years of peaceful sailing in calm waters, we thrust out into the more adventurous regions of Junior High School. Here we encountered two entirely new terms rat and cooperation. When we sailed into this institution, the former term served well to subdue those who were proud of their recent promotion. Cooperation, we found, was an act of paying two cents each Friday for the support of a weekly newspaper, The Junior News. Then one day our beloved Professor Givens presented us with diplomas-our certificate of entrance to Decatur Senior High School. The most startling and amazing feature of this new home was the way chapel exercises were conducted. Doc', always employed such big words in making announce- ments that we were ever in a state of confusion. Quite often some Senior would run down the aisle to make a breath-taking announcement about a colossal Hollywood produc- tion to be given in chapel the following day. Miss Brandau was elected sponsor of our Sophomore class and ably guided us through our first year. The Junior Class chose Mr. Kimbrough to lead our junior activities. Included among them were a highly successful magazine campaign, the sale of coupon books, and our pro- duction of 'QMary's Little Lamb. With Miss Pope as captain of our final year at Riverside, we have successfully spon- sored a profitable sale of magazines, two Shakespearean plays, and the all-important Senior Class Play. Miss Odom piloted us into port. The Seven Seas of Opportunity are open to those who would sail further on the S. S. Education. May it be determined by the class of thirty-nine that, as we continue our voyage, we shall pursue with undaunted courage those things that lead to a victorious life. EDITH MAY SCHIMMEL Class Historian. SAILING There is no thrill so great as sailing 'Tis lots of fun-includin' bailing . . . It gives you a feeling both joyous and keen When you pull 'er in close and she starts to lean, The feel of the spray as it beats on your brow From the waves that are cut by the sleeken'd black prow- Seems to wash away cares, futile and vain- And gives us new strength to fight life again! PETE HENDERSON. Page Twenty-seven