Madera Union High School - Blue and White Yearbook (Madera, CA)

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16 THE RURREE AND WHITE The meadow larks announce the coming day; The fields are clad in verdant beauty, where In Borden’s time the earth dry bare. But Borden, though your village may de- cay. Your ancient glory cannot pass away. Through all the the story shall told, How Borden’s pioneers, in days of old, Transformed a desert to the fruitful land, Where now our thriving farms and cities stand. was and years be A. Strike HAZHL OSBORN. “ZZL“ZZZip bang, I am going on a strike,’ said the old clock in the Assembly Hall. “Oh, don’t,” said the pendulum, “you aren’t a striking clock and it might not be good for you.’’ “T don’t care, I’m tired. I’ve been run- ning ten minutes fast for a whole day and I’m gcing to stop. Today just before noon a tall slim boy and a short boy came up with a big, long stick and pushed my hands up to twelve and | don’t like to rua fast, so there.’’ “Well,” said the tennis pennant on the all, ‘I’m, just about to raise a racket my- rf. The moths are just eating me up ive, and I haven’t had new letters on me for so long I’m terribly out of date. And the worst of it is that next week they g to play for me and maybe some- bedy else will win and I might have to change hands. I hope not. Oh, suppose I'd have to wear a ’13, or a 715, instead of pb Wedd “My head aches,” said the josh box from its corner behind the piano. ‘‘Hveryone semed to have forgotten that I was in ex- istence and the spiders built. webs all over me and I am so afraid of spiders. Then today I got a whole batch of jokes and such jokes! They made my head ache. One of them was, ‘“‘Could Mr. Burrell write peetry if Billy Wood?’ I suppose I suffer in a good cause but I pity the Josh Editor.” se ] any are goir “Hear, hear,” called the dictionary from the reference table. ‘‘I feel worse than any of you. I have lost two leaves today. 1 am in a peculiar position. I am not par- ticular and I don't care a particle for prac- tical philisophical philanthropy.” “Oh, help us,” groaned the latest edi- tion of the “Sporting News.” ‘‘Where did you get those words?’’ “Those are the words on the leaves I lost. I thought I’d see if I could remember. Teday I heard a Senior girl say something like that and a Freshman asked her where she got it and she said, ‘Oh, I swallowed a dictionary and the leaves are coming up.’ I think she must have swallowed my Missing leaves. Anyway I miss them.” “Oh I wish a few more of your leaves were missing,” sighed the ‘‘Pros and Cong’ which was under the dictionary. “I’ve been fastened down here all day. My sides are nearly crushed. A Freshman orator was looking for me today and she couldn’t find me. She was disappointed and so was I.” “Oh, you alf think you are go badly abused, but just look at me,” wailed the old Hneyclopedia Britannica. They all looked. “Am I not a pitiable sight? My covers are tern and battered. I used to be popular but this new Encyclopedia came along, and it looks so nice and new, that nobody likes me any more, and I hate to be slighted. Cobwebs and dust gather on me and 1] don’t like it. Oh, dear,” and it subsided with a pitiable wail. “I guess it’s my turn now,” croaked the old piano. “I am go out of tune I can hard- ly talk but you know I used to be a fine piano. They used to play classical music on me, but now, oh, now they play ragegy, rag- gedy, rag-time and they pound so hard and sing so loud; it seems my head will fly off. But I guess I’ll stop playing. Tomorrow there’ll be no “Steamboat Bill” or “Baby Doll.” “Aw, sick. bunch of grouches interrupted the waste basket. give me the chills. to you. you make me = MON Cut it, get some life in- Don’t be dead heads all yer life. Wot’s de matter wid yez? Yer think he- cause yer a little out of whack everything oughter stop. Ye’d oughter see what those poor Seniors have to do. Then ye wouldn't

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RTE OILS: AND WHITE 15 Charley and me was appointed the com- mittee to purchase the claim. We found the Perfesser cooking the grub we sent up—he was better already and af- ter a square meal his symptoms mostly dis- appeared. The claim was turned over to us and he left that very day for Snelling, riding on a mule—from the back he looked like Abe Lincoln, Charley says. The boys never said much that night— we was all broke and didn’t have no rosy prospects—but as Charley says, the Per- fesser needed it more than us. Oh, no, the claim wasn’t no good—never figured it would be. Ever hear of the Perfesser again? About a year afterwards, they brought a big bundle up from Stockton and when I opened it I was some surprised to see a big book by the name of ‘‘Foreign Philosophers.” I thought they’d made a mistake until I saw the Perfesser’s name on the cover. It was dedicated to “My Mine on Maxwell’s Creek, which has enabled me to write this book.” The Deserted Village LINTON R. MANTONYA. O Borden, fairest city of the west, Of all the county’s towns you once were best, Before Madera’s prosperous city rose And. brought your business to a speedy close. H’er yet the boundless acres of our west- ern plain Were broken by the plow and sowed with grain, While yet Sierra’s snowy peaks down . On barren desert fields with scarce a town, When yet no pleasant orchards spread their shade. No cooling groves a welcome refuge made For travelers in this new and unknown land, burning sand, looked And breezes swept the burning When firey whirlwinds scourged the dusty plain And all was parched and dry for lack of rain, The pioneers of Borden took their stand To change this desert to a fruitful land; And brought to light by steady patient toil The riches of our greatest mine, Madera’s soil. Soon fields of brown gave place to fields of green little tween And irrigation, watering all the plain, Brought with its welcome floods increasing rain, And thriving farms sprang up and pros- pered till A busy throng did Borden’s markets fill. A blacksmith shop was built, a village store, A fine hotel, a dozen homes or more; The busy streets a fine appearance made And all the countryside went there trade. And thus the village grew and prospered till Madera got her flume and lumber mill. But with the opening of the Sugar Pine Originated Borden’s swift decline, And Borden’s village sank into decay. Madera’s sunrise ended Borden’s day; And all of Borden’s bravest and her best Departed for the new born city in the west. Though many years have passed since Borden’s day, Madera’s boom seems to have come to stay; The products of a thousand farms markets fill And every morning finds her still. And now one’s eyes are greeted by the scene Of pleasant thr iving farms and fields of green, And here and there are shady groves of trees. One’s face is greeted by the cooling breeze That breathes the fragrant breath of new- mown hay; With orchards interspersed be- to her growing

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THE PURPLE AND WHITE 17 erouch so much. Gee, they throw paper away with numbers a mile long on 7em, all comes out of their heads, too. They’ve ect lots more trouble than the whole bunch of yer stiffs and they ain’t goin’ on strikes cr whinin’ about all the time either. So I’d advise you to get a move on, old clock, and ye’ll just be in time. And you old piano, old top, you just 20 on playin’ rag-time; it strikes me pretty fine. AS for Tm as empty as a dead broke in a dry town but tomorrow I’ll be full, gleriously full, and we'll all be happy, ever after.” The old clock began to run and every- thing was quiet except the tick tock, saying “All’s well, all’s well.” me Why Men Will Never Fly PAUL HUSTED. We're looking forward to a time, When men will sail the sky; When they will navigate the air, And any one can fly. The birdmen say the time is near, That soon as. birds we'll be. We'll ride no more upon the earth, Nor sail upon the sea. They say they’ll live up in the sky. But they’ll never do these things; Before men: ever float in air They’ll have to grow some wings. So men can never, never soar As eagles in the sky; And if we ever float on air, ’Twill be machines that fly. The Rescue Of Ezekiel RUTH BAKER. Mr. Ezekiel Obediah Joshua Brown was his name. Who was he? Can you by any stretch of imagination, picture anyone be- longing to such a name as that, except a very respected, staid, dignified deacon of the church? To be sure, Mr. Ezekiel Brown was very staid and dignified but there was surely something the matter with him, something had found its way into his blood; for convenience, we will lay it to the mi- crobe of sweet balmy June, although his wife declar ed it was spring fever. At any rate, Mr. Brown announced at the pbreakifast table one morning that he meant to have a picnic out under apple trees, and invite all “the brethern and sistern of the church” and perhaps a few of the neighbors. Accordingly, the next Sunday, he = an- nounced his intention in church, and as a consequence, had to shake hands with each separate individual afterwards. At last the great day came, the tables were placed under the apple trees quite early in the morning; then, when all was ready, Mirandy, in her best bomibazine and Ezekiel in his shiny swallow tail sat down to wait, but Mirandy, woman like, could not rest until she had scared up a few doubts. “Say, now, Zek, suppose they did not come after all, what if it should rain, may be,’’—but this sentence was never finished, for her doubts were set at rest by seeing what seemed like the whole population of Dolesville turn in at the long drive lead- ing to the house. The morning pagsed all too quickly but just at twelve they were all seated under the fragrant canopy of white apple blos- soms. trace had been said and some had already begun to satisfy their appetites when, suddenly, Mirandy remembered that there wasn’t a drop of water in the house. She drew Ezekiel over to one side, and hastily thrusting a large tin pail into his hand, commanded him to run down to the well and fetch a pail of water. Wzekiel, with a little good will, did as he was or- dered. The well was over a little knoll beyond the orchard and quite out of sight of the banquet and for this he “‘thanked his stars” later on. Mr. Brown had drawn the water and was resting a moment after his stren- uous exertion when, hearing a noise be- hind him, he whirled about and there, not ten yards away from him, was “Blijah,”’ the old battering ram. His head was down and his feet were making the dirt fly. There was only one thing to do and our highly re- his