Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

Page 32 text:

T he Mirror WEDNESDAY What an important day! This morning I got up at 6:30 in order to have time to dress as carefully as 1 could ; not that I think “Clothes make the girl,” hut I think they make possible an interesting revelation of individual attractiveness. For example, Greta Garbo off stage in dark glasses, very sporty clothes, and a mannish hat pulled down, shows no apparent attractiveness. Hut on stage there’s really no one more attractive, the cynosure of all eves in movie audiences. Today I would play my role on stage. I ate my breakfast too hastily and waited impatiently for the 7:35 car. At last! The perfect beginning, I had thought. Hut—1 had missed him. I got to school and loitered at my locker—no Hill. At 8:15 1 just had to get an O. K. to my locker again. To get there 1 went by his session room door and on around by his locker. HORRORS! There he was talking to a little brunette. I managed to say, “Hiva,” but that was all—and I’d so wanted to tell him we were going to a dance Friday night instead of the movie. Throughout the day I enjoyed the lonely companionship of my dejected spirit. Although students were all around me, inside 1 couldn’t have been more alone. Finally the seventh period bell rang. 1 had written an essay on “The Progress of the World” for geography. It was a long one. Mr. Thomas gave me nearly all of the period. It covered a lot of territory—and Hill was in the class. At the close of the day I returned a book to the library and then literally ran out of the building. 1 couldn’t bear to go out with the crowd, and I couldn’t help running either. I must get home to get hold of myself—to think, to sit by myself —and think. There I would find rest and contentment; instead, I opened the door into a living room filled with happy, chattering ladies, enjoying a Wednesday afternoon of bridge. I only spoke and disappeared, breathing a sigh of relief only when I beheld my little writing desk littered with papers, still unchanged from last night’s inspiration on “The Progress of the World.” I had dinner with the family. I wasn’t hungry but 1 ate almost greedily. I returned to my room and my desk. 1 would write another geography paper. Hut I must roll up my hair first. 1 parted it into a thousand strands and rolled each one carefully on my pencil and pinned it securely with a bobby. Just as I was thinking how nice it would look tomorrow, even until seventh period, I heard the door bell. It scared me out of my wits. Then “Hello. Come on in-----Ruth!” It was like the call of the wild. My hair all rolled up and a caller! Well, 1 don’t care; one of the neighborhood gang, I thought. Hut it wasn’t. It was Hill. Just dropped by to say he didn’t like the way I had spoken and wanted to know why I was acting so cool. I could never tell him the truth. Ididn’t want him to know; instead, I told him a little white lie. I said I had been in a hurry to get to the office. 1 wanted to ask what he and the brunette were saying. I couldn’t. He seemed not to suspect or understand the cause of my confusion. Maybe she was just a girl in his session room and he was just talking casually and walking to the door with her without giving it a second thought. Anyway, wc are going to the dance Friday night. It’s 9:30—I can write my geography paper and sleep in peace. [30] —Ruth Kirkland

Page 31 text:

The Mirror through. See what a rent the envious cop did make in the gas tank of the lofty Ford, and as he plucked those cursed things away, mark how the gasoline of Caesar followed it! This was the most unkindcst gash of all, for the foot of Twentieth Street hill, while all the tank ran gas, the Great Ford stalled. Oh. what a stall was that, my countrymen ! Good friends, sweet friends, let me stir you up to a sudden generosity. They that have done this deed are traffic cops. What private reasons they have, alas, I do know; maybe for his money. 1 come not, friends, to steal away your wealth. 1 am no orator as Brutus is; I have neither wit nor words nor the power of touch to take away men's wallets.20 1 tell you that which you yourselves do know and bid your purses speak for you. 1 put a word in every stripe of Caesar’s uniform that should move the pennies of your purse to rise and pay. All—We'll pay. 1. Citizen—We'll go on his bond. 2. Citizen—No, pay the fine. 3. Citizen—Away then, come seek the jailer. Anthony—Enough, avaunt! But pass the hat. the sound of pennies27 will be as music to mine ears. Then we’ll away to Caesar. Written by English Class of Central High School. Christmas Number of Mirror. 1921 Modernized notes by Ben F. Heyward. Phillips High School. 26. Dough. 27. Tokens. [29]

Page 33 text:

Th i Mirror SCHOOL DAYS When I was a lad of six, My thoughts turned toward school. Only one month and I was to enter— That month was the longest of my life. Upon entering school many things I wanted to learn; First came the alphabet and drawing; Then came art, reading, writing, and arithmetic, And the golden rule of the hickory stick. As years rolled on, 1 found myself in higher classes— From the first grade to the eighth. Then came the day of graduation. The day 1 was proud and never forgot. High School to me seemed a vast unknown. Long halls and strange rooms, Multitudes of pupils who all looked alike. I found myself lost to the rest of the world. First a freshman, then a sophomore. Then 1 began to think of being a junior. When 1 became a junior, I began to admire many silly girls Who seemed to me diamonds and pearls, But I learned my lesson. They were expense and trouble. So I joined the bachelors’ club. And for a short time was a free man—but very lonesome. Because of football games and dances, I forgot my lessons— So. I failed many subjects, Yet I had sweet romance. Finally, it dawned That a future was somewhere for me; I began again to study Until a senior I became. In my senior year, school was hard; I had to work and study. Now the day is near, When my school days will come to a close. As 1 look back, 1 seem to see Hard days in school and long walks to and fro, Heartaches and joy's, all alike dear to me— All of which will bless my future life. [31] —Sam Culotta