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

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although Bill came more often to see the leading lady, Gloria Furness, who repeatedly snubbed him, than to see the shooting of the scenes. But to return to Cabot. Down the trail the horse galloped, with Cabot on his back, cutting an ungainly figure. The camera men were following their flight with the cameras, and everyone on the set was watching them. Bill and Jeff watched, too, more interestedly, perhaps, than the others. At the bottom of the hill was a pool. The trail went close to the right of it, but today, to Cabot’s horror, there was a large pile of brush in the center of the trail. The horse swerved sharply to the left, but Cabot went straight on, into the pool. He waded sputtering to the shore, for the pool was shallow. This was lucky, for Cabot’s swimming was as poor as his riding. They brought him back to the ranch, the director complaining that the scene must be shot” that very day. Perhaps, you have guessed the rest. Of course, Jeff suggested Bill for Cabot’s part, and the director, willing to try anything, did notice that Bill was a very presentable young man, did notice that he rode and photographed very well. In fact, he noticed these so much, that he mentioned them to Bill, and told him also to come to his office the next day and they would see about a contract. The director moved away, followed by cameramen and extras, one of whom said to Bill, The Big Boss is stuck on you; you’re in luck!” And Miss Furness, in passing, gave him a sweet, sweet smile. Said Bill to Jeff, Wonder who could have put brush on the trail!” Said Jeff to Bill, with a grin, Come up to my house for dinner and we’ll try to figure it out!” Marjorie McKee, High Nine. Hidden Faces Under the grasses after the snow There do the modest violets grow; Hiding their delicate beautiful heads Out of the sunshine , in soft mossy beds. Touched by the fairies , as blue as the sky, Sweet as a rose, the violets lie, Hiding their faces to never be seen, Only the leaves know where they have been. Janice Pape, High Nine. Before Datvn The spider’s web is the jewelry store of nature, The clouds are fleecy lambs grazing in a meadow of blue, The trees are spectral sentinels in the gloom, The grass is a velvet carpet laden with dew, Apollo is preparing to draw his chariot Across the sky, as the icorld becomes bathed in light. Emily Stout, Low Nine.

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Oh Mother! You had better get that half inch of string hanging from Chornie’s mouth. Even a little string is bad.” Did you say a ' little?’ After all, three and a half yards is only a small part of a ball of string.” At last school is over and one hurries home to find the note. What could it be this time worse than another washrag?” Here’s Mother, at last, grimly clutching a rather gloomy little dog. What was it?” I ask. The pink washrag?” No! Good heavens! The bath-tub stopper!” Betty Ricker, Low Nine. Sanctuary When cares surround me like a pall And days are gray with myriad ills, 1 turn my back upon it all And seek my cabin in the hills. ’Tis there I find my antidote For worry of the sort tJjat kills — Heartache and strife are both remote From that sweet refuge in the hills. Kay Mitchelson, High Niue. SUPER-COLOSSAL Bill Chapman and his publicity agent friend, Jeff Hardy, were deep in thought. You could tell this because their heads were close together, and they spoke in solemn voices. You could also tell that they had been in conference for quite some time, for the dense blue smoke hung in stagnant spirals above their heads; they were speaking on that eventful day, of Bill’s chances in the movies. They were in fact formulating that plan, which, in later articles, was to be known as William Chapman’s Sensational Entrance Into the Movies!” That afternoon the Super-Colossal Movie Production Corporation was on location at an old ranch, which was the setting for a new Super- Colossal picture, The Heart of the Cow-Puncher.” There was a little flurry among the actors and actresses as the star, De Lancey Cabot, approached. The Most Romantic, Swashbuckling Hero Ever Seen on Stage or in Private Life” came hurrying up, apologizing for his tardiness, explaining that he had been a little late with his afternoon tea. Then came the terrible part of that momentous afternoon, for Cabot’s double could not be found, and the scene had to be taken before dark. It was necessary for Cabot’s double to ride a horse in the scene, but the double was not there, so Cabot must ride! But Cabot could not and would not do this, and finally had to be lifted, volubly protesting, to the saddle. All this time Bill and Jeff had been regarding the scene with amused smiles, for they were frequent visitors to the Super-Colossal set,

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A MODERN TEARJERKER The other day, on my morning promenade, I happened to observe an old acquaintance who was sadly gazing at a popcorn wagon. I was sur- prised to note his usual jovial countenance faded to a frown. Being very sympathetic, I asked what might be the trouble. He sadly unfolded his tale of woe. It was such a story as one seldom hears. It seems that he had invested his life’s (wife’s) savings in an Arizona ranch of four hundred acres. Upon two hundred acres, he cultivated popcorn, while he used the remaining acres for cattle grazing. All was going fine with our friend on the ranch. The popcorn was progressing splendidly and the cattle were fat and sleek. It looked like a banner year for our hero and he had already ordered an elaborate popcorn wagon with streamlined chassis and a jazz-playing whistle which was to be the pride and joy of all Arizona. The wagon was well on its way when the inevitable happened. A hot blast of wind which i s common in this desert region swept over our hero’s farm. This occurrence, being filled with hot air like our story, proceeded to pop the corn on the spot. The cattle, observing the snowy white heaps and thinking that it was snow, nonchalantly froze to death. The corn popping attracted pigs who cleaned the field of the popcorn in a very short time. This terrible disaster wiped out our hero’s farm and his life’s (wife’s) savings, leaving him penniless and without his popcorn wagon. Moral: Don’t pop corn without a whistle; raise grapefruit in Arizona. Bob McCarthy, High Nine. NOTHING EVER HAPPENS In a lake like this nothing ever happens,” said the old hermit, as he whittled on a stout, oak limb which he used to push his raft about. A fool I was to abandon civilization and come to this dead place and — ,” his voice trailed off until the words were merely movements on his lips. The lake was about five miles long and about three miles in width. At the east end it backed up against a rocky shore which grew into a tall, slanting cliff in which were many caves. Here the hermit had his home. On the west end the lake widened considerably, but it was full of rushes and was quite marshy. On the north and south sides it met with glistening, white, sandy shores, and then came a deep pine forest which grew denser as it grew outward. From a bird’s eye view it was a most beautiful sight, a turquoise center with a border of white opal, and the final emerald circle. The old hermit looked up at the sun and calculated the time to be about eleven-thirty. Guess I’ll drop my line and catch a fish for lunch.” One could sense the pain of hunger in his voice. Twelve o’clock rolled by, but no fish did the ravenously hungry hermit catch from the clear blue depths.