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

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Lizzy vs. Blindy Silas Slow was his name and his name, I can guarantee, was the only slow thing about him. Silas was one of those raw-boned, bull-headed New England- ers who always “Lowed as how he could do anything ter be done in this old burg of our’n.” But he was to be sadly shaken from his bed of placidity and I think you would be interested in hearing his own story told by himself short- ly after the final funeral rites had been preformed over the body of his deceased Ford. “Wal, yer see, “twas like this. hat hinkering, jinkering Judge Cant that tries ter run our town, goes and buys himself one of them new kind of hosses without wagons that they calls Fords and goes ter parading past me, and my old hoss scattering dust something scandalus. Right then I cal’clates as hows I’d buy me one of them contraptions. “Ther next time I goes into town, I goes into one of them stores as are called garages and buys me a Ford. An what you think that fool garage man asks me? If I didn’t want him ter drive ther thing home for me! Wall T just naturly told him as how I didn’t need no store guys ter show me, being as I'd driven old Blindy fer nigh on ter twenty years. I guess I took him down a peg all right fer he turned a funny color and made funny sounds when I got into that consarned thing and started out. “Wal, I shaves that garage door just as nice and was going down the street, when, sudden like, I wasn’t on ther street at all and one of them electricity poles was headed right straight at me. T says right now as how them compan- ies shouldn’t be allowed ter obstruct the public road with such things. Why. man, that thing just runned right unter the front of my new Ford and bent it all up, like Mrs. Jinkens’ back when she’s got the rumitiz. “Now mind you, all the time that guy from the garage had been right be- hind me and comes up alongside, a laughing all over his ugly face. “ ‘Well, well, dad,’ he says, just as though I’d be dad ter the likes of him! 5 ‘Lizzy isn’t behaving like old Blindy, is she?’ And he laughs again just as though he’d said something funny. “T was mad by now and I asks him nice like ter move that post and he laughs again. He tells me ter back it. 1 gets out and pushes it back, talking nice like all the time but I can’t budge it. Now, he gets in and pushes something and Mr. Ford sputters and kicks and then goes right back inter the road again. ‘Mr. Garage man climbs out and says, ‘Now, Mr. Slow, don’t you think I had better stay with you till you learn a little more about your new car?” T shows that man the road perty quick and starts off again. “That car went along just like a bird till who do you think I sees com- ing? Judge Cant! ‘Well, here’s where I have some fun,’ thinks T and I pulls that Ford up inter full speed. “T don’t just recollect what happened next but when I woke up three days later, they said as how I’d runned right unter Judge Cant and mashed him and fractured the ear’s leg and been throwed ten fect inter the air and lit on my head in Mr. King’s hog pen, nearly scaring the pigs ter death. ‘T had that Ford just two hours and it cost me more than old Blindy did in twenty years. Right now I’m telling you as after this Silas Slow never buys a Ford.” —TOLA STAFFORD, ’23. Dl,

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Oh, no, perhaps not! How under blazing sun, moon and stars was he going to do it? But he’d surely do it some how! an The Song of the Brook SHO IMSL WMBAILIL, “De Softly I heard it trickle, Softly, then softer still, First sending sounds of music Then it would be a trill. Tenderly calling the violets, Then softly it called the rose. What, where, when, you are saying Oh, my, silly, what do you s’ pose Tis the brook that’s in the meadow, In the Spring time when winter just goes. Its song it sings so gayly, Is quite a musician’s song Notes that are short and sprightley Notes that are tender and lon These notes have tender harmony, These have sweet echoes and trills, Tis the call of the wild sweet springtime. Which echoes thru all the hills. o S: Tis music, I’ve told you so often, Why is it you can’t understand? When the flowers are springing go sweetly ’Tis the touch of a pretty hand, The touch of Spring on the meadow, That makes them as green as e’er, The touch of Spring on the brooklet That makes it run sweet and fair. Now come with me to the meadow, I'll show you the wonders there, Pll show you the haunt of the woodchucek, Pll show you the haunt of the hare. There’s naught for the blood like the sourdock That grows on the rim of that brook 3 There’s trouble enough in the daytime, But just as the sun’s going down I'll take you down by the brooklet And drive away every frown. —ALICE PARKER, 724. 26

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Carramba ! Golfin !” A voice called me but it was not sweet but very unfriendly. There are ways of calling my name. When Marinela says it, her voice is sweet and soft; this one was rough and harsh and rather faz iliar, and so I paid no at- tention to it. Golfin!” The voice called again, more loud y than before and right into my ear. In an instant a hand reached out and jerked me suddenly toward the unknown speaker. It was so unusual and go sudck en IL would have lost my balance but for the firmness of grasp. I found myself facing detective White, one of those Republican govern- ment men, who parade by the water fronts or walk the city streets, pretend- ing to be inattentive and ordinary, when all the time they are sizing up every passerby and are ready to pounce on any suspected one any minute. “Que es eso?” I said quic kly, and was very courteous. It is well to be po- lite to these foreign Be But the detective was not to be fooled. “Cut the rough stuff,” he said, “I’m not here to hear your Spanish lingo. Come. You thought you could get away with the stuff, did you? Well, there'll be one more of these darn foreigners sent over board, if I have anything to do with it.” The laugh that followed these words were cruel and teasing, but the few people that visited this crowded street of San Salvador. used to such sights, took no notice of it. I felt my cheeks reddening, knowing that, since the precious box was in my possession, I must put on a bold appearance. “Senior,” I said calmly, “you are vying to accuse me of some wrong of which I am not guilty. But, whatever it i s I must tell you that I am wrongly judged. You can ask any one as to my ae in the past. El madre 3 “That is neither here nor there,” he answered abruptly. “If you are in- nocent you will have a chance to prove it, and if guilty—come, or shall I take you with the aid of a gun.” I saw that it was useless to resist and say any more and so replied, “Muy bien, Senor, voy con Usted.” We passed in and out of the many streets. The detective had a hand on my shoulder in a very firm clasp, and we proceeded on our way. He was not talking and I was thinking hard and fast. There must be some w: ay of escape, and, if there was I mus fei te ly think of it. Time however, was precious, and, we were coming nearer to the rae house all the time. AIL my reasoning and thinking, however, 0 ie seemed to be of that one small box in my vest pocket. If I could only get rid of that thing, all would be well with me. But, after all the trouble of getting that expensive pearl for my Marinela, I was not overly anxious to part with it as to keep it and go against the waves. Mhey say a man will put himself before anything for love, and I truly think I would have gladly faced the hereafter itself, if 1 might first see the look of gladness on Marinela’s face when I should place the treasured ring on her finger. 28