Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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THE STORY TELLERS CHAMPIONS May the fifteenth! On a smooth sandy tennis court a drama was taking place. The contestants seemed well-skilled in the art of tennis. One was a tall muscular man playing with the grace of a ballet dancer. Before him darted an exceedingly fast lad of fifteen years. I 'he ball flew back and forth keeping time with the gleeful shouts of the boy. The man drove the ball to the back line. Then with the smashing forehand the small wonder player sent the ball into the farthest corner. I he man purposely let himself be caught off balance, missing the ball. “Well. Barron, do you know what you’ve done?” the man asked as he came forward. “Ves, bather, 1 have beaten you—James Watson, America’s tennis champion! That makes me as good as champion of America.” 1 he ex-champion’s face clouded; he had been watching this vanity of his son for some time. As he sat down on the spectators’ bench, his meditation was broken bv Barron. Father, is something worrying you?” Mr. Watson sighed and replied thoughtfully, es, son, I m afraid there is. Barron, I am worried about you. You play for the championship of your school Friday and. . . .” “Why, Dad, don’t you think I can win the match? After all I just beat you.” Barron went through the motion of a serve, “See, Father, my form is perfect.” A es, son. I’ll grant that, but you also need a clear bead. Barron, you arc cocky and that is one characteristic a champion doesn’t possess.” With a flourish of his racket. Barron said, “Dad, iust wait until Friday and I’ll show you whether I can win the championship or not. A strange look passed over Mr. Watson's face. He said, “Barron, my father once told me this, ‘If a man gains the whole world and loses his head, he has accomplished nothing of any importance. Remember that, son, and you will never lose in the game of life.” Mr. Watson went to the dressing room while Barron kicked an imaginary pebble off the court. Fridav came, and Batron Watson was named champion of his school, giving his opponent four games in three sets. The four years that followed were filled with work and glory for Barron, now possessor of the district, state and western coast championships. But Mr. Watson was still concerned about his son's growing vanity and desire for glory. Nevertheless he worked diligently with Barron, giving him the knowledge of tennis that a champion possesses. But Barron in his cock-sure manner paid little heed to his father’s warnings. Grantlon Brice, famous sportswriter, heralded Barron Watson as the most promising young tennis player of all times, and dubbed him the “Wonder Boy,” of tennis. He predicted also that Barron Watson would be the winner of the coming National Championship Tournament. [20]

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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]

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T he Mirror Barron’s ego was fanned to a fame; he threw discretion to the wind and became a popular figure at dances, house parties and receptions. Nature was preparing for the coming winter as were the people of America preparing for the coming championship tournament to be held in Forrest Hills on October 24. Barron, feeling himself as good as his father, had for sometime skipped his practice with him. The ex-champion saw little of his “Wonder Boy” who was usual!) dashing about enjoying wild social engagements. When Barron was at home, Mr. Watson usually sat in meditation or walked down by the tennis courts seeking solitude. The day of the tournament arrived, bringing as much happiness to Barron as it did to the ex-champion. Barron battled his way to the finals amidst the cheers of the adoring spectators. There was a tall muscular man. nearing forty years of age, who was a habitual spectator at the tournament. His steel gray eyes scrutinized the “Wonder Boy like a falcon watching his prey. The man’s troubled face would beam with enjoyment as Barron's smashing forehand lofts carried him on to viltory. A frown would crease his brow, however, as he watched his son’s backhand stroke. Nevertheless, the “Wonder Boy was to play “Cotton Burton in the finals. “Cotton , a boy of twenty-one years who hailed from Alabama, had battled his way to the top along with Barton by his cleverness of placement, smashing drives and his ability to seek out his opponents’ weaknesses. Today as Mr. Watson sat in a spectator's seat to view the championship match, the lines in his face drew a picture of troubled thought. A great roar of the crowd interrupted his meditation as he saw his son striding across the court. The ex-champion saw Barron smile and how graceful!) to the crowd. Many were the salutes that found their mark. A few moments later, a small burst of applause burst forth as “Cotton Burton walked across the court. One readily saw the crowd favored the “Wonder Boy . He strode nervously onward. Mr. Watson saw the boys stroll over to the referee to receive their instructions. Then with an affirmative nod of their heads, they returned to their respective courts after Barron had won the serving toss. As “Cotton nodded that he was ready, Barron stepped lightly to the base line to deliver his serve. He threw the ball high into the air and blasted a cannon ba 1 for an ace. The championship match was underway. Mr. Watson, watching his son’s dazzling speed, saw him take the first set six games to three. 'Flic crowd roared its approval, hut Mr. Watson knew Cotton Burton was trying to find a vulnerable spot in Barron’s form. In the third game of the second set. the ex-champion saw what he had been dreading. Cotton Burton drove the sphere in the far corner to Barron’s backhand. The “Wonder Boy with poor form returned to the net. A gleam of satisfaction passed over “Cotton's face. He had found the vulnerable spot. Immediately Burton began storming Barron’s backhand with a barrage of terrific drives. There was a subdued murmur from the crowd as Barron, momentarily at a loss, dropped the second set seven-five. Mr. Watson sank down in his scat, and waited. The third set proved to be a close, hard battle. Barron, playing with cold perspiration on his brow, used his dazzling speed to utmost advantage to overcome his weak backhand and take the set nine-seven. The fourth set found the crowd trying to cheer Barron on to victory. A few out-of-place jeers directed at Burton were heard amidst the roar. “Cotton, being the [21]