Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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T HE M I R R o R Joe decided to wait another two days before calling at the publishing house for his composition. Why hurry? Or worry, either? Such a marvelous work as that was safe. So, to pass the time—and half in pity—, he would go to this new McCann success. Quite a crowd, he noticed as he entered to the rhythm of the orchestra. Some day. an orchestra, ten times the size of this one would be playing one of his great works and people would applaud loudly as he took bow after bow. He triumphed; but soon his smile changed into an unbelieving stare. Certainly, that horrible orchestra could not be playing his music. Of course not! Hut some of the strains were the same, yet how different they sounded. What was he to think? Tortured he rushed out. On reaching his apartment, he flopped disgustedly into a chair. He had believed himself original. Original! Humph! His friends had been right; music was a cjueer business. One hail onl to go into a musical comedy show and hear his identical theme and rhythm s.aughtered. Well, that music could just stay at the music house; he certainly had more sense now than to go back and have it thrown at him. Why not remain an accountant after ail? Originality was at a discount there, and there were no heartbreaks. It was not too late to accept that invitation to play bridge tomorrow night. And there was still plenty of time before going to bed to string the old tennis racket. —Mary Garrett [22]

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T he Mirror “the music goes ’round and ’round” I oe Carlton's composition was the most perfectly harmonized, the most delicately rhythmed, the most original and inspired music that had ever been written—so he believed; and nothing should swerve him from a musical career. Life as an accountant was too matter-of-fact, too routine. True his income was sufficient; and his friends were agreeable enough, though they seemed not to appreciate his artistic efforts. However, he himself was too sure of his talent to let their criticism or their indifference discourage him. Nor could their frivolity tempt him into wasting his leisure on bridge and tennis. Some day his genius would he appreciated. This he realized as he played the just-completed masterpiece through again and marveled at its perfection. No use to try to discuss it further with his friends. The thing to do now was to send this “Sonate , as he proudly called it. to Virgil Winters. There was a man who recognized ability; and he was known to have encouraged beginners. Joe would address and mail it now. A few days of waiting. Thrn lie would drop bv for congratulations and royalties. • • • By the time the carefully wrapped, neatly labeled package reached the littered desk of the critic, Virgil Winters was in no humor to encourage anyone. He himself was embarrassed because he had advised his company to publish a song of which not more than two dozen copies had been sold. Hut the recollection of a worse blunder haunted him: he had been loud in condemning young Hob McCann, whose musical comedies were now furnishing the tunes of the town. And, as if to rub it in. the young upstart had just telephoned him, of all people, and asked for some new composition, his offhand manner seeming to say that he, the great McCann, could make a hit of anything. Hut all that was spilt milk, and Winters might as well try out this new thing on the ramshackle, long-suffering piano. Horrors! It was impossible. A conglomeration of over-worked themes and exaggerated discords. Did “Joseph Carlton” expect serious consideration? What was the musical world coming to? Suddenly Winters’ dull eyes gleamed. Why not send this hodge-podge to the dauntless McCann? Of course, lie would have sense enough not to ruin himself by accepting it, but let him have the experience of rejecting Carlton's masterpiece. Hob had asked for music; and he, Virgil Winters, would go on record as not having refused it. • • • On glancing at the music thus sent him. Hob McCann danced up and down. It was really grand of Winters to help out like that! A big man would admit that he had made a mistake. This music was exact.) what he needed: conspicuousl ridiculous, it was perfect for his comedy scene. It was something to be recognized and even boosted by an erstwhile enemy. It would be a pleasure to welcome and reward this newcomer. Joe Carlton. Oh. the musical world was great! [21]

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The Mirror PROJECTS NOT FINANCED BY XYZ I. THE TENNIS COURT I T was a hot, sunny, quiet Sunday. Finding no program worth my valuable time, I snapped off the radio and angrily walked into my bedroom. From the assortment of baseball gloves, footballs, golf clubs and what-not, 1 picked my tennis racket and waved it around vigorously, depicting Bill Tilden. While doing my backhand lob, I heard a car's horn. Rushing out, 1 saw three friends who were all eager to play the glorious game of tennis. With the gas meter at zero, we proceeded happily to the tennis court, hoping to come home within the car not behind it. It was during our trip that we planned one of the most daring projects ever undertaken by us—building a tennis court! As usual, no one was on the court, and as usual, no sooner had we got our shoes filled with dust, than there was a hopeful crowd calling the familiar phrase, “We got the winners.” The phrase slowly changed to threats. To prevent threats becoming actions, we reluctantly retired to the future site of our private court. We sat under the magnolia tree, deliberately picturing the future triumph, despite the towering weeds and the rugged ground. With the sparrows sleeping above and pictures of the court drawn on the ground below, we left in firm accord to build a tennis court of our own. Monday evening after school, when the blazing sun was sending shafts down futilcly upon the cowering dust, I was drinking water under the large tree and pretending that I had worked hard. When the curfew tolled the knell of parting day, 1 slowly wound my way over the .ea home to tend my tender palms. The second day was more eventful. Some small boys wanted to work so that they may play when the court is finished. Agreeing readily, all of us big ones” sat under the magnolia tree and calculated. With my back against the tree, my feet crossed, slowly shaking back and forth, and my tongue slowly diminishing a popsicklc, I thought of the most tcrribic thing possible. Who was to buy the net, the backstops, the sand, and the other paraphernalia? “Paraphrasia” seized the trio when 1 further added that the cost would be more than $10. And when the time came that all good boys must say goodnight, the sparrows were sleeping above and a group of discouraged figures shivered on the ground below. [23]