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

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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

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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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abandon. ‘Then after all was the sun came out and looked down bi nienly on the wet earth and all was happy again. All this the yeople felt as the » old, white-haired musician seemingly uncon- scious of them, played. It was nmished. A full moment they waited and then a mighty roar broke forth and were shouting wildly for more. The old man smi be became certain of his success. tears came to his eves from pure joy. Next he played a jolly, rollicking piece that set everyone smiling and left them apparently without a eare. So, on and on, through all his numbers, he played. sad that everyone lovely and tender. lightning broke forth in utter over, y ople were so wept: some In the year 1876 several men grouped themselves to- gether as the “Madera Flume for the purpose of building a flume to connect the plains with the vast and valuable forest which surrounded then A few mules south of the present site of Madera was the railroad station of Borden, then a thrivine little town of probably six hundred people. To this the company de- cided to direct its course. This town, built and mostly owned by the railroad, refused to admit the flume unless the company would pay them annually an enormous sum of money for doing so. This the refused to do, and after two months spent in fru itless parleving, they gave up and the railroad rejoiced in a victory. But their rejoicing was doomed to short after a con- ference of a few days, ie company sent a messenger to the railroad with this mes “We will neither give up our project, nor pay your ee; We will own and kill your contemptible litt Company” COM pany lived for, build a town oF ae le upstart.” From that others so filled with despair that people were worked up to the highest pitch. He moved nearer to the front of the stage as he began his last piece. It was called “Death,” faces blanched to ehastly white, became more and more strained. sad, the music death. As the last wailine note was beeun, the old musician raised his head high. looking, with his soul im his eyes, into the faces of the people: and. as the notes died away, he pitched forward—dead ! and as he began, and the nervous tension Low, wailing, infinitely dvifted on and on picturing the horror of day to this, Madera has had the bitter hatred of the rail- road company. Within a few weeks it was noised about that the cours of the flume had been changed: and when it was com plet- ed, this rumor was ene for it touched the railroad just three miles north of Borden. During the building of the flume, a large supply camp had been built at its destination which the company spared nothing to make into a city. When the flume was at last completed, 1e town contained a hotel, a grocery, hard- ware, and dry goods store, and one church. Siens of per- manent life could be seen evervwhere. Claims had been staked out and a few modest dwellings erected. Fora vear. the railroad company refused to recognize the new town and its trains thundered by without so much as slowing’ down for the crossings. In spite of this drawback, settlements had sprung up all about the new town. Southward were the Touistana and