Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

Page 20 text:

PEACE TWENTY YEARS No onr noticed him sitting there huddled against the park bench, dirty, ragged, and old. except a nearby policeman. Observing him casually, the policeman walked slowly over to him, pointed an accusing finger at him. and in a gruff voice said, “Move along, buddy, this ain't no place for you.” He gathered up his belongings and with occasional backward looks, shuffled along down Twentieth Street, crowded with throngs gathered to sec the Armistice Day Parade. As he edged along the crowd, he heard the jeers of boys and the slurring remarks cast for his benefit, but he kept on going. He had no time for such small matters. 11 is mind was filled with memories now twenty years old. Let the hands play; the hoys march. They hold no more glamor for him. He knows what war means. It isn’t the romantic thing that stories tell about. Hadn’t he been among the first to enlist when the call for men came? How proud he had been of his uniform and the shiny gun that rested on his shoulder. Hadn’t there been sighs from girls when he passed by? Yes—and kisses at the dock. Hut kisses didn't blot out the horror of the sights he had seen a few weeks later. Nor did the uniform stay tidy and clean. It was torn by barbed wire, and the mud was caked on it so thick that you couldn’t see the brass buttons he bad been proud of. He heard no bands, but the terrorizing music of bombs bursting in the air. He saw no marching men, but only those crawling on hands and knees in trenches—or those who crawled too far. These were the memories that war left to haunt him. Yes. he would move along and leave the parade for the gullible people who cheered the bands and marching men. —Clco Brown [IB]

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1 he Mirror But when it is due we're still waiting for “tomorrow to come. Or, when we arc met face to face with the startling question, “When are you going to do it? , regardless of what it is we are supposed to do. we very nonchalantly remark, “Oh. some day next Tuesday.” (Wimpy the Great's favorite expression). Then when Tuesday arrives, wc always can have the ready excuse that there will be other Tuesdays. We cannot often resist the temptation to repeat what wc hear and therefore wc are classed as gossips” (gentlemen included). Finally, when, from curiosity, some worthy person undertakes to find out just where the rumor was so enthusiastically begun, we find ourselves in a pretty serious predicament. So we resort to the method of Turkey-Lurkcy, (1 guess you all remember the nuscry story). Ducky Lucky, upon being pointedly asked where she received her information replied, Gooscv-Lucv told me.” 1 guess Hcnny-Penny told her, Chickie-Little told llcnny-Penny, Rooster-Wooster told Chickie-Little. and as usual, the rumor was traced to a gentleman (of all people). So there, when we hear Women arc gossipers”. wc can, with a superior smile, ask, Who said so? —Juanita Baker THESE THINGS These things in life we count sweet: A child's small feet, Trust in God, The humble sod. A tosc serene, The garden's queen; A lowly flower with leaves aflame. That put vain honor all to shame. —Rebecca Milner [17]

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T he Mirror SOLDIERS’ BURIAL GROUND What arc these? Lancs of white, Rows that once were men, Never to respond again To human touch— War’s deso ation! —Harvey Wilson WE LOSE WHEN WE WIN On the field of battle How the drums do rattle! But when all the slaughter’s done Is the battle won? Battle lines with fearful clamor How they startle with their glamor! But so fearful the cost, Is not the victory lost? —Dwight Her long WHY Why must we have war? To break the hearts of women, To kill our men? The mother’s farewell. The sweetheart’s kiss; Then men march into hell— Does humanity deserve this? —Frank Nelson [19]