Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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Tiie Mirror AN INTERVIEW I have interviewed an old friend of mine and this is what he said: “During my youth, 1 desired to make an impression, but all that uneasy craving has left me. 1 no longer expect to be impressive. Since I have lost this attitude. I not only feel at case, but 1 also find people more interesting. I say what I think, fully aware that my point of view is but one of many. “I am not at the mercy of small prejudices, as 1 used to be. Then, if I disliked the cut of a person’s hair or the fashion of his clothes, or considered his manner unpicasing, I set him down as impossible. Now I know that these are superficial things, and that a kind heart and an interesting personality are not inconsistent with side burns down even to the chin. If a person’s manner is unattractive. 1 often find that it is nothing more than a shyness which disappears the moment familiarity is established. “There has also come a sort of patience. As a child, mistakes seemed irreparable: calamities intolerable: disappointments unbearable. I have learned that mistakes can often be set right, that calamities have sometimes a compensating joy. that a disappointment is often of itself a rich incentive to try again. One learns that hope is more unconquerable than grief. And many of the sorrows of life lie in the imagination. In the imagination also lies the power to recall the good days.” —Barbara Ella Reeves THE MIMIC Her thin lips were elongated with the most crimson of crimson lipsticks. Her blonde hair was done in a startling fashion with rows and rows of smooth, tight curls on top of her head. She was advancing closer to me in a sort of tottering lope, the effect of tiny feet being encased in spike-heeled pumps. Somebody’s after her. 1 thought, or she wouldn’t be going a: uch a clip of speed. I'll offer help. But looking down the dimly lit hall, I could detect no mad monster at all. As she drew abreast. I saw it all so plainly. How could 1 have missed such an exact likeness? How could I have been so dumb. Her dead-white face gave me the first clue. None other than Joan Crawford could have such vivid lips so alive with color, nor could you tint! such gardenia-white skin on any other than Joan. The hair idea 1 recognized as one inspired by the latest picture of Anne Shirley. The walk that I, in my dumbness, thought was caused by fear was none other than the sophisticated walk of Bette Davis. How dumb I was not to see all this. Or was I? Who was she? You should know. She is found in every large high school. That “l-adore-you” look on her face is the answer. She’s a “duke’s mixture of her favorite movie actresses. Just ask her. She can tell you why “The Bride Wore Red, or who was “The Toast of New York. when really Greta Garbo should have been. But ask her “what’s a met-a-phor? and shr replies in a daze, “to put the cows in, you know. [22] —Mary Jones

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T If E I I R R O R of a long black car carrying a rectangular box draped in black with flowers on top and a long procession of automobiles slowly following behind flashed across his inward eye. As suddenly as he had plunged into the pool the professor reacted. Up came his foot. Holding it aloft off slid a sliniv, slippery, slithering eel. —Joe McKinney “UNCLE BOB” Just how my grandfather came to be called “Uncle Bob” 1 cannot say. On one cold, dreary morning with the stirring sounds of the Civil War in the air, he was christened Robert Lewis. After a few years, when their “pride and joy” un-cautiously pressed his tiny sticky fingers over the newly polished piano bench, his proud parents simply shouted, Boh!” But this is not rile whole significance of the name. It means more than a name to his family and friends. To the latter it symbolizes friendliness and a large open heart to every one in Williamson County, be his station high or low. 'They love his dry wit and his lengthy courthouse discussions on politics. They know him to be the essence of honesty and sincerity, his word his bond, albeit he is the best sheep and cattle trader of the surrounding hills of Franklin, an historical little town in Middle Tennessee. Though he dons long-legged flannels on the first brisk days of November, not even the frequent snow storms and downpours hinder his usual daily trip to town. No less than he, would the men of the town miss their conversations of the lowering of tobacco prices, the women miss their friendly chat and bit of kidding, and the children miss their treat at the corner drug store. Often when one of the farm helpers is not available to crank up the old Model “T and drive him into town, he, after carefully brushing the lint from his coat and hat, starts out on foot down the muddy road on his seven-mile journev. But not once has lie walked even a mile before be is most obligingly given a ride by I om Henderson or Jim Jones. They all recognize him the moment his slighly bent yet sturdy figure comes into view. Almost before he completely descends from the running board, he is greeted by someone either needful of advice on some farm problem, someone eager to hear a bit of his home-spun philosophy. or some wife wishing to ask for a loan to tide her famil over until her husband recovers from his spell of rheumatism. His rea.lv rcplv to “Thanks, Uncle Bob, tor that advice,” or “My load seems lifted after a word with you,” or I II pay you back as soon as I am able,” is onlv a gruff, “Fiddlesticks!” [21] —Mary Jane Carl

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The Mirror THE SIGN HANGER A high spot in the busy days of little children is the advent of the sign hanger. When they hear the familiar chug of his motor and the faint sound of his horn, all the children of the neighborhood run shrieking out of their houses to be the first to greet him. 1 here he is in his old car. loaded down with paste, paper, ladders, and brushes. He greets all the kids with a cheery smile and they in turn chorus. Hello, Mr. Man. What arc you painting today? He looks mysterious, then smiles and tells them to wait. Soon he turns and starts to work. He sings awhile, then whistles, because he is happy at his work. He is the great artist before an admiring audience. They envy his skill with the large brush and strips of paper. Ah’s of admiration are heard as the picture slowly begins to form. First there is the white border that is characteristic of all sign pictures. Then the next strip and so on until the pictures is complete. I he painter tcps hack to view the picture with a critical eye. Moth the painter and the children love the picture of the little girl there upon the board. Her golden curls and smiles seemed real for the moment. The children exclaim gleefully at the new picture of Shirley Temple that is to play the next week. Pleasant anticipation for the children: satisfaction of completed work for the painter. 'I he pic.ure has passed the approval of the hanger and he begins to pack up. So with profuse goodbvs the painter rattles away and the children resume their interrupted play. —Virginia Scott A GLIMPSE OF LIFE She is coal black, aged, and a hit decrepit, and though she boasts of the fact that she wa horn “befo’ the Surrender,” she sets her age at forty-five. She is depen dent upon the welfare of kind people. Though her toothless mouth is a sign of age and poverty, her spirit is none the less durable, and her weather-beaten features arc none the less interesting. Her humble obedience is the pathetic attribute of a handicapped race. Her religion is as Puritan as her ancestry is African. Enduring faith and hope inspire her to loudly sing in a husky voice various Negro spirituals, or to chant her own improvised melodies. With a child-like enthusiasm for her work, she sells candy wheji the weather permits. One week she collects money to pay for her husband’s funeral expenses: the next week, praises God for mv health , she says, “and good meat boiling in the pot.” .Most people arc amused at her quaint characteristics; others sympathize and take part in Negro welfare movements. Her two-room shack, gaily decorated with numerous calenders, or colored pictures and festive advertisements bedecking the walls, is a veritable peep-show for small children. Her speech is usually humorous, but I knew not to laugh when one day she indignantly exploded, “Why can’t 1 get work? I got to live. 1 i folks, too! [23] —Pauline Thomas