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

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Life is just a game of building, Not of wealth and birth and fame: We must build our own tomorrow, We must give ourselves a name. Whether we will tread a vathway Filled with mirth and joy and light, Lies with us for its decision : We can build and make it bright. Shall our lives be sad and lonely? Shall we be without a friend 2 That will, like a ll other blessings, On the architect depend. Builders of Comorrow Friends are dear to every mortal, Always true at our great need ; So for fair tomorrow’s garden, Let us now plant friendship’s seed. We must build our own tomorrow, Build it with the greatest care: If it falls when first you’re building, Do not give up in despair. Build it up on Perseverance, Fill it high with your good deeds, let Faith and Hope and Charity, Be the sum of all vour creeds. Paths may wander or go straying, We can choose the song to sing, No one makes our joy or sorrow: Of our building we are the king. Che Wustctan He was a violinist, alone, old, wrinkled bv time, unap- preciated yet living always in the hope that some day he would be able to reach the hearts of the people by his be- loved music; he loved his lonely life with his one friend— his violin. Day by day, he toiled in a small tailor’s establishment, sewing endlessly, it seemed. in the same methodical wav. But in the evening, when the soft dark and quict lay over all the great city, he sat with his loved instrument pressed caressingly to him and played. Sometimes, they were low, hauntingly sweet, infinitely sad strains that drifted out into the night, while at other times, they were splendid, strong, vibrating with life and joy. and filling one with a sense of security and happiness difficult to explain. Also,

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school had two outs, one run ahead, and a man on third base. Bob could hear the rooters cheering him and see his school banners waving. The next man at the bat failed to accomplish what was required of him for he was put out on first. Bob was given small chance to maG his run but he took the chance and succeeded in making the home plat» a in time to score a run and make the score 4-6 in favor Bennington. The Bennington school took their the Westchester school came up t places in the field and » the bat determined to save the day and gain a long desired victory. Bol stood in the pitcher’s box realizing that the outcome would de- pend greatly upon himself. The first batter up was struck by a ball and took his base. Bob could hear Jack’s voice on first base encouraging him. The next man up was Johnson, one of the Westchester school’s best men. He had two strikes and two balls called when Bob, gathering al! his force sent over one of his swift inward curves. Johnson made a hard strike at it but the thud with which if hit the catcher’s mit told that he had missed it. The umpire was heard to call “Out one; next batter up!” The Westchester school seemed to lose its confidence vith this out. Bob continued to pitch a good game, and when the third out was ¢ alled. the Westchester team had only two men on bases and the Bennington boys hastened from the field. Bob and Jack came out of the dressing room together ee re they tu and was surprised to see his fa Jack keeping pace ( you after tonished son. derstand. oe with rather an anxious glan and started toward the the school. As Mr. Dean and Mr. Stuart talking ther. Bob hastened toward him, -ather an anxious face, into trouble main building of they saw prole ved the corer, of the College one ASSOES toze her an¢ with » MeT with hin Jack felt himself about t “Hollo Father,” Mr. utstretchec for lding out his hand. COM ike 4 eagerly id not offer ened Bo , Stuart turned quickly: but he hand. ish to shake hands with said sternly to his as- hardly expect to Ww Robert.” he “You can di ne sobedienee. “My d nered Bob, “I don’t un- yedience, father?” What do you mean? Just here, Jack intei rupted ; 180 FBS wn ‘| ee I can explain,” he »at his own father. | looked at him in surprise Mr. Dean’s face grew stern as Jack told the story of the forged telegram. When he had finished, his father game him a rebuke that made his face grow rather white and he would have takers more severe measures with him if Bob and his father had not interceded in his behalf. But, when the boys started back toward the other members of the team, it was with happy countenances. for Bob’s father had changed hig mind and Bob was athe to eo on takine part in ath- letics and winning laurels reece acs) Soa} EDD VSD) YD)

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he played to the memory of one who had long since been dead. These were tender and passionate strains, filled with love and sorrow, and many times he played until the pain in his heart was so great that he wept for her, By some strange trick ‘ot fate, he had never been given a chance, and his life was one long desire to be allowed to play in public. Numberless times he had applied at the theaters to play but had never been given a trial, for some time he had given it up and p layed only to imaginary dionces. It was Christmas eve. Hurrying thrones of people shed along the white, snow covered streets and the whole y seemed bent on one great holiday. On this Christmas eve the musicion wended his way along e of the most brilliant lighted streets in the city, toward a theater. He had resolved to try once more and then, if successful, give up the attempt for ever. He paused uncertainly ae the dim “Stage Entrance” and then, summoning his courage with a great effort, walked in. All was confusion within. It was the might when all the city would be there to hear the famous opera singers and players—and word had just been received by those present that Le Bois, the famous violinist, had sprained his wrist and would not be able to play. Just as excitement was at its highest pitch, the old musician opened the door and stood, the eynosure of all eves. He made a picturesque figure as he stood there peer- ing uncertainly at them the dim light, his long white hair covered with snow. his eves pitifully large with anxiety and his hands. blue with cold. clutching his violin. “What do you want?” was wher him and brokenly old violinist’s reply came. “Just one chance to play to the people.” the he exclaimed. 29 “1 ask no pay—only to play—to reach their hearts—to make them see with me, to feel with me the beauty of music—that is all that [ ask—please—just a chance,” his F and his hands worked nervously, their hold on the instrument. one present looked uncertainly at the other and voice trailed off and loosening Each tightening 10 one, in his surprise, knew what to do until some one said, “We might try him and see what he can do; something nust be done, you know.” They seized upon the suggestion eagerly, — and, nore eagerly, the — old man lifted the — lid of he worn case and drew forth the — yio- in, lifting it into position, without more ado, he layed a soft, sweet, rippling little melody that left his yearers amazed and their incredulity changed to wonder. When he had finished, as it was nearly time for the curtain to rise, they decided to give the old man a trial. At last his to himself, The old musician was wondrously happy. dream had come true! Over and over, he said SH agi T will sueceed 1? The curtain rose on a woodland scene and into this, walk- eo] the violinist, eager to begin. A creat mass of people was before him. one in either cheek. glowed, sparkled. }] was still as he raised his violin reverently He began softly and a trifle uncertainly l succeed, Two red spots. and the musician’s eves and began. and it was like the beeinning of an April shower. All recognized the touch of a genius and not a sound was heard save the low. wailing notes of the violin. Gradually gaining in volume, the music was wafted out to them. the description of a rain storm. First, the calm. ouiet stillness. vet with a certain. subtle warning : then heavier as the clouds gathered. Then the rain began to fall and the wind began its wailing and thunder and