Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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Tme Mirror superb placement. He was again defending his coveted title. Barron had the speed of an antelope and used it to a great advantage, taking the first set six-two. The second set found Mr.“XM cleverly running Barron all over the court by perfect placements. Nevertheless, Barron’s speed overcame this and he took the onesided set six-one. The crowd started to roar for Barron to make the kill as the third set came up. As the roar died down. Barron saw a change come over Mr. “X”. 'I he hooded face was thrust forward on the bull neck, and a low inhuman chuckle came from behind that mask. The eyes became burning brands of fire. Mr. “X’s” movements were no longer those of a tennis player; he moved with the speed, grace and ease of a panther—stalking the antelope before him. He swung his racket with the speed and power of a striking lion. Cold perspiration stood on Barron's face. He now knew he hadn’t won the last two sets that they were given to him. Mr. X started a barrage of smashing drives to Barron’s backhand, winning almost every point. 1 he “Wonder Boy” tried some old tricks his father had taught him, but Mr. ‘‘X’ was always there. Mr. “X” never let up, never got tired, smashing, driving with killing speed. The crowd started screaming for Mr. “X , the “expert”. Barron’s nerves were ready to break. His opponent’s eyes bored into his very soul always calculating his next move. He wanted to scream for mercy. Barron went to pieces. 1 he Wonder Boy” lost the next three sets winning only three games. Barron, wet with perspiration, came forward to shake the hand of his dcfcater. Mr. X” slipped off his mask—the stands went wild. Barron sucked his breath with surprise. Standing before him with his hand outstretched was his father. Barron dimly heard the crowd shouting, Big Jim Watson! Big Jim Watson! Barron clasped his father’s hand in a firm grip and spoke in a subdued voice. Dad. if you are willing. I want to take those tennis lessons.” The look that Mr. Watson returned his son more than said he was willing. It was a look of reconciliation between father and son. —Bruce Wilson MEMORIES With my memories, Memories of old, 1 am weaving a web A web of gold. [233 —Mary Elizabeth Drake

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T he Mirror less experienced of the two contestants, was becoming the victim of strain. His strokes were becoming erratic and ill-timed. A tennis player’s most dreaded enemy was taking possession of ‘‘Cotton’’ Burton; he was speedily becoming rattled. This was something Mr. Watson hadn’t anticipated. Barron, sensing this change in Burton, began playing with greater zest, winning the fourth set six-four. Thus winning the best three out of five sets, the “Wonder Boy” was crowned the national tennis champion. Barron, breaking away from a mob of autograph seekers, returned home to find his father in the library. “Well, dad, what do you think of me now?” he exclaimed as he came toward his father. Mr. Watson turned, and looking into his son’s eyes, replied, “If the sentiment of the crowd had been reversed. ‘Cotton’ Burton would at this moment be champion of America.” Barron raised his eyebrows in surprise and said, “Why Dad, you talk as though Burton is a better player than I.” “With your present backhand, that is exactly what I mean,” was the clipped reply. “Son, get up in the morning at six for another tennis lesson.” A hot flush passed over Barron’s face, “I don't need a lesson; 1 can beat anybody in the world, even you. I have done it and I can do it again,” he replied in a confident tone. “And all this running around that you arc doing! You can’t play.” “That is my own business, Dad. and if you don’t like it I can leave,” Barron remarked heatedly. As the ex-champion left the room he said softly, “That won’t be necessary, son; I’ll get my ticket. “But Dad, I. . .’’ Barron dropped his voice to hear the fading foot steps of his father going down the stairs. Thus the partnership of Barron and his father was broken. Barron went wild seeking pleasure in riotous parties. At one of these parties, Barron, being in a boisterous mood, challenged all-comers. This statement made headlines in the nation’s papers. After defeating two challengers for his title, Barron received a mysterious challenge signed by Mr. “X”. The match was to take place in Edison Square Garden. September 15. The tabloids played this mysterious challenge up to the highest degree. A sell-out crowd was to attend. On the night of September 15, Edison Square Garden was the scene of a seething mass of humanity. The people hardly knew the seats had backs in them. Everyone was keyed to a high pitch. As usual Barron received a great ovation as he walked on to the court. The bright lights showed his slim figure to an advantage. Cat-like in his movements, Mr. “X” was hardly noticed till he glided across the court. Mr. “X’s” cheers consisted mainly of awed gasps and deep murmurs. From his masked face to white shod feet—he was the very essence of power and speed. His broad shoulders, deep chest and trim hips supported by staunch legs, made him a picture of physical beauty and athletic ability. Having received their instructions from the referee the players tossed the coin for the serve. Barron took the balls and walked to his back line. At a nod from Mr. “X”, the “Wonder Boy” threw the ball into the air and drove his opening serve with [22]

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The Mirror LET ME TELL YOU! It was in the fall of 1936 that our small party entered the icy regions of Northern Canada. We pitched camp by a large mountain —a mountain so high that it took the sun half a day to climb. Every day we went deer hunting but the deer were so fast that we did not have time to raise our guns. We hunted for about a week before a deer was killed. I happened to be the one to kill it. It was on a brisk morning. I was so cold that 1 could have been sold for ice. Well, anyway, I took my trusty “gat” and started up the aforesaid high mountain. I would run a while, then walk a little, and then stand a few minutes behind a tree. After several hours 1 reached the top of the mountain where 1 heard a scratching noise to my right. I glanced quickly in that direction; well, o and behold—there stood a big, beautiful deer nipping frozen leaves. Quickly 1 raised my gun. but by the time I was ready to fire, the deer had gone. Well, it was too late to stop action, so 1 pulled the trigger. If that deer hadn’t been so fast, he would not have been killed; tor by the time the shots had reached the nearby mountain, that deer had reached the top also, and he ran right into my shots—or my shots into him! —Harry Rives A VAGABOND A vagabond in carefree mood Whistled gaily in rapturous solitude. The golden rod was swaying to and fro Along the winding country road. He stopped a while and picked a few, And looked upon the glistening dew. The caressing whisper of the wind Told tales to him that never end. —Eva Lee Frederick [24]