Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

 - Class of 1927

Page 19 of 52

 

Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1927 Edition, Page 19 of 52
Page 19 of 52



Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1927 Edition, Page 18
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Page 19 text:

YE SCHOOLE GOSSIPE With Apologies to K. C. B. It surely is A problem to get By one ' s locker In the Girls ' locker room Because all the girls Are standing in front Of their own lockers 5 And taking the shine From their noses ■ Or combing their hair And one has to squeeze And push and elbow To get by at all. And the very best thing It seems to me Would be to invent f: Some " contraption " ❖ By which each one Could be suspended if; In the air long enough 4; To powder her nose Or else have elevated Walks for the ones =i: 4; Who deem their studies More important. I thank you. — Frances Merrill, H9. WHEN FRIDAY COMES When Friday comes what joy you see! We leave our books right willingly. The teachers are as glad as we, They ' re just as pleasant as can be, When Friday comes. We do not heed the teachers ' calls, " Go softly, students, down the halls. " We never study late that day. We hasten home to rest or play, When Friday comes. All week the children toil away. They work by night as well as day, Though wrinkled is each thoughtful brow, The wrinkles fade away somehow, When Friday comes. — Dorothy Logan, L8. " DETENTION, SIR " With Apologies to Longfellow The classes were exchanging rooms; The sewing class was at its looms; When through the hall did rush a youth Whose ears were ringing with this truth, " Detention, sir. " His class around the comer swerved; He tried to join it unobserved; In hope he might escape the word His conscience had already heard, " Detention, sir. " But suddenly there struck his ear A voice that filled his soul with fear; A voice of deep and solemn tones That chilled the marrow of his bones, " Detention, sir. " — Stuart Mc-Whood, L8.

Page 18 text:

THE FIRST IMPRESSION It ' s fun to be a scrub, A scrub so meek and mild, And have the others treat you As if you were a child. To have them smile so ' isely ' Whe n in the halls you pass. To have them stare so loftily When meeting you in class. And say, ' " You do your work in ink? Well, that ' s the best I ' ve heard. You ' ll soon get over that, my dear, You will, upon my word. " And then they nod and really seem To pat you on the head. And act as if they ' d honored you By saying what they said. I really think it ' s quite a joke To see them strut about; Perhaps it ' s well they do. or else We ' d never pick them out. • — Ruth Gene Campbell. L7. DORA AND HER FRIEND ATTEND A MOVIE MATINEE " My, it ' s dark in here I You know I always hate to come to this theatre. Of course if I come ' ith Bob I just hang on to his arm. — Oh. Rose, here ' s two seats here, right in the middle of the center section! Isn ' t this finel — Oh I I beg your pardon 1 I thought this was an empty seatl He needn ' t have been so cross about it I — As if I could help it! Now well have to go all the way back again. There isn ' t room for both of us here. — Here, madam, is this your hat? — You would think people would hang on to their hats, wouldn ' t you? — She said that I stepped all over it. too! Imagine that, after I was kind enough to hand it to her! Well. I know these are two empt seats here. Let ' s try these and see how we like them. Oh, I just can ' t stand this! Look at that big mountain ahead of me! I can ' t see a thing! — Oh look, she ' s leaving! What luck! — Why. I ' ve seen this picture before. — What, you think you ' ll like it? Oh, I know you won ' t! You know the hero gets drowned in the end. Oh yes, they ' re acquitting him of murder now. In the next scene he is put in jail. — Xo. I don ' t like this picture. It ' s too sad. The hero dro Mis, and the heroine dies of a broken heart. — Why, did you hear that cat behind me? She said she wished I would keep still. — Such impoliteness! " — -Eleanor Moles, H9.



Page 20 text:

THE POWER OF LOVE Xinth Grade Prize Story ' ' Thomas! Thomas! " called an imperative voice, " where is Miss Florence? It is time for her music lesson. " ' " Sure. Marm. and I can ' t say. " " All right. Thomas, that do. ' " and the figure vanished into the house again. The old man heaved a patient sigh, and turned back to his work again. A little while after this conversation Thomas was again called from his labors by a sweet voice calling anxiously. " Thomas, has mother called me? " " Yes, little Missy, and sure ye better be fer hun -in ' . " At his words the little girl ran into the house and soon the nerve-racking sound of a child playing a piece of music which she had not practiced ven,- carefully reached the ears of old Thomas, the gardener. Florence Courtney was the only child of ]Mr. and Mrs. Edward Courtney. The Courtney mansion was famed all over for its beautiful garden. lagnificent trees shaded hidden nooks. Precious ferns and flowers grew there, and emerald lawns stretched from one end of the grounds to the other. " ' hen this sound was heard by Thomas, a loving smile crossed his face and he whispered to himself. " I Iy little missy is as sweet and happy as the day is long. WTiat would we do " " ithout her? " But alas! There came a day when the little one did not pay her daily visit to Thomas, when she lay in her small bed still and pale, while doctors and nurses hurried back and forth with grave faces. There came a night when all present knew that the illness had reached a crisis. Outside the door, waiting anxiously for news, stood Mr. Courtney and his wife, their faces pale and grief-stricken. As they waited the door was opened, and the doctor came out of the room. His face was alight T " ith gladness, for he was the carrier of good news that little Florence would recover. Great was the joy throughout the household, for the child, though only eight years of age, was a favorite with all. But they rejoiced too soon, for the small invalid rested on her couch day after day, pale and languid. The doctor ' s face became graver each day, and he said, " Can ' t something be done to rouse that child? " oMrs. Courtney shook her head with weary despair, for her patience was almost at an end. The next morning when she entered the sick room, she was greeted by this statement: " Mother, when that rose outside my window dies, I shall die too. " At first this seemed onh- a joke, but Florence, with a sick child ' s fancy, became almost obsessed with the idea, and she really came to believe that when the rose died, she would die also. After a few days the rose rilted. until finally Thomas, who had heard the stor} ' , conceived of the idea of each night plucking off the old rose and placing a new one in its place. One night a terrible storm arose, the wind blowing such a gale that it was almost impossible to rithstand it. Thomas, however, as ever - night before, climbed his ladder and replaced the rose. But tonight Thomas, in his haste to be through with his labor of love, failed to place the ladder securely against the house. In descend-

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