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

 - Class of 1927

Page 29 of 52

 

Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1927 Edition, Page 29 of 52
Page 29 of 52



Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1927 Edition, Page 28
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Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1927 Edition, Page 30
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Page 29 text:

MY FAVORITE AUNT Of all my aunts and uncles The one I like the most Is Aunt Mirandy Cockancall, Who always acts as host. She tells me when it ' s study time, And time to do my math, She tells me when it ' s five o ' clock, And time to take my bath. She tells me when it ' s time to eat, Or time to come to tea; At any rate it seems as though She ' s always calling me. Aunt Mirandy ' s always there Awaiting in the hall. For she ' s our big brown cuckoo clock That hangs upon the wall. — Marjory Campbell, H9. ROBIN HOOD FINDS A FOREST RANGER I One day when Robin Hood went out. He came upon a stranger. He said to him, to him said he, " Are you a forest ranger? " II He proved to be a ranger bold. And though he answered not, ' Twas by a mark bold Robin saw That he was of the lot. Ill It came to pass on that bright day That Robin said to him, " Will you be in my band, good sir, Of fellows gay and slim? " IV The ranger did not answer then, But in a little while He said he ' d like to join the band. And serve it in good style. V Then Robin said they ' d start for home; The stranger did agree. And so they went upon their way Toward Robin ' s try sting tree. VI They walked and walked for miles and miles Until they came upon A house so big, made out of logs. His band could seize upon. VII The band was merry as could be. And had a lively feast, For all the men were hungry After hunting for a beast. — Martha Brock, H7.

Page 28 text:

A SOLITARY EVENING The clock on the mantel said exactly eighteen and one-half minutes after eleven. From outside came the sounds of leaves being hurled about, which did not particularly serve to brighten the atmosphere. Now, Peggy wasn ' t especially afraid to be alone; in fact, she was often by herself. But tonight, with the clock mournfully ticking and every little sound magnified, what was Peggy to do? Had it been Friday, or even Sunday, the family would have been up. This evening, however, they had all been tired after the week-end gayeties and had gone to their bedrooms. And so, I repeat, Peggy was decidedly alone. She sat in the corner of the davenport, her eyes fixed on a book in her hand, while the clock counted off the minutes. A something, unknown to Pegg ' , swept by the window. The light went out, leaving the room in utter darkness, save for the dying fire. She didn ' t start; in fact, she acted as though she had heard nothing. The clock struck twelve; muffled steps came into the room and held a flashlight in such a position as to see the " lay of the land. " Would she let him rob the house and hurt her? Why did she not stir? Who was she to sit like a statue? So she was — nearly that, for Peggy, my readers, is only a French doll. — Frances Merrill, H9. HILL VIEW Hill view, Nebraska, is a typical country town. The inhabitants are as sleepy as they were fifty years ago, and just as sociable. It possesses most of the modern things New York does, only on a smaller scale: a lawyer, one-seat barber shop, doctor, and even a dance-hall, or " cabaret, " as the owners call it, are part of Hillview. There is the little Palace Theatre, which is open every Saturda} night, when it presents the latest " super-picture " to a receptive audience composed of the town people and farmers, who drive in every week-end to market their wares. The theatre houses fully a hundred people and gives them music from an old piano. There ' s a drug store in town, too, which has a soda fountain, castor oil, headache powders, and a rack of hair-raising monthly magazines which are sold quickly to the younger generation. Two general stores, whose rivalry is a tradition, grace Hillview. They will peddle ouija boards, loUypops, or brooms for nine cents apiece to undersell each other. One even gave a pipe to the Widow McCarthy once to gain her trade forever. One man in town owns a radio, and is very popular on the date of the big fight, a Sousa concert, or the Army-Navy football game. He, being thrifty, conceived the idea of giving a " radio party, " and demanded gifts on each of the aforementioned occasions. He once earned the enmity of all present when the battery went dead! Of course there are several celebrities in the town: Joe Powell, whose son is in a circus; Bill Speaker, who once was robbed of fifty dollars; Jim Walder, whose aunt may leave him a million; and Sam Hawkins, the crazy inventor, who thinks he can fly. The tovim history, also, is full of startling incidents, such as the time the top of Sarah Peck ' s chicken house was blown away in a hurricane; the bank robbery which the " oldest inhabitant " still talks about; and the time little Flora Wilkes was thought kidnapped, but later was found asleep under the bed. A modem Sleepy Hollow is Hillview, with its inhabitants, like all people, in ' an eternal race to keep abreast of the times. — Keith Monroe, H7.



Page 30 text:

AN HAWAIIAN BURIAL CAVE One Sunday morning two companions and myself left Wiamea for Kawaiha, the northern seaport of the Island of Hawaii, to explore an old burial cave in a gulch. Since the natives were very much opposed to anyone entering these caves, we hid our team along the road and then hiked up the ravine till we came to the cave, an old lava blowhole. We climbed up about eight feet and crawled along a low and narrow passage for some distance, until we found a piece of a calabash. Upon closer examina- tion of the wall, we found it artificially sealed up, and, after some hard work, laid open an entrance to a large, irregular cave. On raised stones in the center stood a canoe of koa wood covered with choice tapa and grass-mats. Lifting the cover, we found the mummy of a man, well over six feet tall, his head covered with a wig of red hair. He had probably been a chief. We took samples of the tapa, then examined the walls of the cave for other walled-up outlets. We were not disappointed in our expectations, and had soon opened up another exceedingly narrow passage that led into another cave which gave us the surprise of our lives. Wriggling painfully forward, holding a lighted candle in front of me, the first thing I beheld was a pyramid of some fifty skulls grinning at me. I involuntarily stopped, but the others pushed on, and soon we were standing before what is consid- ered by the Bishop Museum the largest find ever made in the Hawaiian Islands. There were wooden idols of a shape and workmanship of which there is no duplicate in any museum; wooden calabashes studded w th human teeth; the remnants of a feather-cape; a large number of boar tusks; a calabash containing the mummy of a little child; a carving knife made of a human bone, a handle with shark ' s teeth as cutter; and many other articles. It is believed that this find once formed the equipment of an old heiu (temple) and was hidden by loyal priests at the time of the overthrow of idolatry, in a cave guarded by a corpse. No native would ever venture into such a place because of fear of the spirits. There was a great deal of excitement when the natives heard of the find, and when I met with an accident shortly after (in which I almost lost my life), they told me that I had been " kahunad " (cursed) by their witch doctors. — Annie Haenisch, H9. " CANTARA " As we gaze over the mass of green at our feet, the fading sunlight casts a beautiful pink over the snowy white slopes of Mount Shasta. We seem to command the earth from our perch on the porch of a snow-colored villa, high up in the hills, looking down on the peaceful little lumbering town of Cantara, hid away in the midst of the Siskiyou Mountains. Far below lies, like a blue ribbon, the majestic Sacramento River, where the water, a mass of motion, seems to pause, letting the frolicking fish have their play. Then, when it can restrain itself no longer, it hurls itself over the falls and down into the fast-gathering gloom below. Now the faint outline of a saw-mill reaches our eyes. Its fading form seems a supernatural standard of serene peace and content. On the opposite side of the canyon, placed high up on the slope, the distant flicker of lights shows us the position of the quaint little cottages of the woodmen. Now, far to the left, at the entrance to the canyon, the long-echoing shriek of a north bound train is heard as it rounds the bend and disappears behind the tall trees guarding the majestic Shasta. — Thomas Duggan, H7.

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