Flintridge Prep School - Log Yearbook (La Canada Flintridge, CA)

Page 30 text:

Then the uniom . . . The interests o f this year's flmior Class run from music to bridge-building. In fart, if om' K K is so very Il7lllH'ky as to he euught in a study hall with a number of them, he will soon he driven quite mad hy their eonstant qunrrelinq K over which one will get the most out of life. Hozverer, competition is the spirit of pro- gress, and if the boys get out into the world with their ideals still before them, mister. look ont!

Page 29 text:

. . . 14nd Zack Into the ?uture We are walking down the hi gh, shiny corridors of a museum in deepest, stuffest Boston. A glittering guide glides into our ken and takes us, awe- struck, under canvasses of the masters. At the end of the corridor is the museum's newest, a guaranteed Beckwith. A prancing stallion occupies the foreground, led by a small boy. B. K. III, no doubt. Now we are traveling swiftly through lush farm country. Green willows droop protectingly over a small stream. A red roof gleams through giant elms around a noisy farm yard. The late afternoon sun makes sharp shadows in wheat stubble. Time to go home. From behind a haymow comes Reid Allen, eyes pouchy with sleep. lVe are walking the decks of an ocean liner, absorbing the tangy air of the ocean with a will after the city fumes. Wfe wander unsatisped among the brittle, rococo han gings of the liner and search out a secluded spot where we may be alone. Someone is already there. Under the bushy beard we recog- nize the seamed face of a sailor - Blake Childs. An under-official coughs through the latest communique. Pencils scratch on notebooks, heads bob as questions are thrown at the perspirin g underlin g. The interview ends and there is a rush for phones. Charlie Detoy is the prst one to telephone the news. The excited patter of conversation runs through the color- ful audience at Seabright. Under the marquee the players stop to refresh themselves -- the Englishman from a tea cup. the American from a bottle of coke. They step out from under the shade into the brilliant sunlight, the Englishman and Bob Ghrist. Four-thirty, and the lobster watch is coming to a close. Somewhere across town the clock broods brazenly over the fact. From the pressroom teletypes click sleepily, sporadic- ally. The night editor pushes his green eyeshade up on his forehead and turns around. Bob Lissner. Mid-day heat haze veils the buttes across the valley. Cattle spot the range and kick up dust in the corral. The deep shade of the house provides a cool spot for Fred Moore to sleep in.

Page 31 text:

This year's juniors have been notably all- aroundf' In sports they bare been equally as good, if not better, than tbeir bitter rivals, tbe Seniors. In fad, if one were to see a Flint- rid ge suimming meet, a team made up al- most entirely of juniors woulrl confront bis eyes. So l9ere's to next year's Seniors- long may tbey rave. I I