Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

Page 11 text:

The Mirror president's MESSAGE I he graduating class of 1936 are issuing this book lest we forget our happy years in Phillips High School. It is pleasant to recall the Freshman curiosity and amazement in those thrilling days of assembling and of acquainting ourselves with new and interesting friends. YVe recall our Sopohomorc year of participation and of actually achieving what we had thought during our Freshman year was impossible. Athletics, arts, and other activities arc deeply impressed on our minds. We remember how greatly self-reliance and dependability were stressed during our Junior year; how we entered into the political life of Phillips, becoming council members, marshals, campaign speakers, and even candidates for student offices. How vividly our Senior experiences remain with us! Again we see the excellent Senior Play, the colorful opera “Carmen.” ns likewise we remember the dread mid-term examinations. All of us feel indebted to teachers for their assistance and to students for their Cooperation in making this book possible. To our alma mater, Phillips, we arc grateful for practice in working together and for cherished friendships. And now, classmates, as we turn through these pages, let us remember our class motto, “Non progredi est regredi”—“not to progress i to retreat. Having progressed this far, let us not turn back, but go forward to heights. With brave hearts and courageous spirits let us advance. Having overcome obstacles, may we enter new fie.ds with success and continued happiness. Frank Fede [71

Page 10 text:

The Mirror MIS WORLD AROUND The darkness floats around him: It clings about his face— All the downy bits of darkness Are floating in from space. The tiny fluffy feathers Of the night shut in his cry; The soft descending stillness Makes him feel that he will die. He cannot sec the heavens, Nor can he see their light; The shadowy film of darkness Shuts out from him all sight. He cannot breathe the pulseless air, Empty of tone and sound, For the dusky folds of evening Have wrapped his world around. Mnrtjnret Sessions [6]

Page 12 text:

The Mirror THE BEST LAID SCHEMES” SLOWLY and laboriously, old Mike O’Collin made his rounds, just as he had made them for the last twenty years. Stopping leisurely in front of the hank's largest vault, hr just as leisurely lighted his old briar pipe and peered through the grating of the vault. To stand within a few feet of hundreds of pounds of gold bullion might have given some people a thrill; to Mike, it was just a part of his routine to stop at the grating of the vault, punch his clock, and look through the tiny peep-hole to see if every thing was as it should be. And it was; just as it had been since the Corrigan-Moran holdup, seven years ago. Tonight Mike felt uneasy. Something in the air made him peer more closely at the shadowy corners, and look back over his shoulder in the iong tunnel that passed under Centerville’s Broadway to the vault he was even now leaving. A modern psychologist would, perhaps, have explained this feeling of Mike's as a sense of impending disaster brought on by that theoretical and much-talked-about sixth sense. To Mike it was merely a feeling, something like the one he had had seven years ago, just before the big robbery. He tried to console himself by rccal.ing the fact that he would retire on a pension next week, if he lived; and he had lived “nigh on to seventy, as he himself put it. He made his way cautiously back to the big desk in the spacious, shadowy office and took his scat. He proceeded to do exactly as he had done for the last twenty years— call the Chief of Police of Centerville and report every thing “okay”. If every thing wasn’t okay, or if Mike failed to catl at intervals of exactly one hour, the Police force of Centerville descended on the bank like the proverbial wolf on the fold—that is what they had done that winter night long ago when Mike had fallen asleep on his job and failed to call headquarters. Guess I'm genin' old,” he grumbled as he dialed his number. The big clock in the office boomed out two a. in.—on time as usual. “Police Headquarters,” Night Chief Watkins answered just as he always had done. It was the joke of the small town that the chief insisted on formalities while on duty. He was as jolly and fun-.oving while off duty, as he was serious and sober-minded while on duty. Hello, Chief, Mike speakin’. Everything’s okay.” O. K. is it? Well he—click, click,—” “That’s funny, old Mike drawled to himself, “wonder what’s ailin’ the chief? Course 1 knew what he was gonna say, but stiil the chief never hung up on hisseif before.” Outside it was cold. Wet, soggy sleet splattered on the tin roof of the garage behind the bank. Slowly, almost silently, a large auto slushed out of the alley and up into the shadow of the garage. Simultaneously with the stopping of the automobile, two sinister figures climbed out, each carrying something that looked like a suitcase or a valise. Yeah, the bars arc fixed. All we do is lit” dc bars out, git in, shut dc winder, [8]