Phillips High School - Mirror Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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T he Mirror “Milady’s hat hangs on one ear, Or drops low on one eye In color it may cause a tear Or just provoke a sigh. Its shape and size are nondescript— It looks like a chicken when half-picked.” Seeing the girls' hats as they leave school, I’m convinced that from being a part of women's apparel whose original purpose was to protect the head, the honnet or hat has become simply an excuse for a feather, or a pretext for a sprig of flowers. But enough of the women, let's turn to the men. “Apparel oft proclaims the man.” You can tell at a glance whether a young man is the Beau Brummel type. Everyone has heard of Brummel, who set the fashion for English men for 21 years. He was very fastidious about his appearance, and dressed, as Bryon said, “with exquisite propriety.” Phillips has those who are trying to follow in Brummel’s very well turned footsteps. Maybe the next young man will be the athletic type sauntering through the halls, usually dressed casually to prove that he is not “sissified” even in dress, and more often displaying a big “P across a wide expanse of chest. Occasionally we catch a glympse of the boy in the business suit. 1 his one always delights my rye—dressed simply and neatly in a suit with a nice white shirt and a modest tie. Excellent, I say! Color, too, proclaims the man (or it docs in Phillips) for they have turned to colors hoping to achieve an even more fashionable ward-robe. Their shirts arc bright and would you believe it—designed! The more colors one can get in one outfit, the better. The coats arc nipped in at the waist; padded at the shoulders for the Hercules effect; pleated to be dressy; double-breasted for Fashion’s sake. 1 he trousers too, are pleated and usually creased to perfection. Pies and handkerchiefs of the same tone ami material arc quite the thing. Shoes are of every color from a sort of orange to black; first they’re pointed, then square, changing every season. The informal shoe is the moccasin, not because the boys have the astuteness of Indians or the shrewdness of a Hawkcve, but for comfort. All in all the fashionable men seem to feel with Pope anti the women that: In words, as fashions, the same rule will hold, Alike fantastic, if too new or old, Be not the first by whom the new is tried. Nor vet the last to lay the old aside.” —Gene Smith MY SHADOW My shadow and I are pals; When I have a sunny disposition, He walks with me. Lighthearted, funloving, full of glee; But when to a cloudy mood I lean, My shadow with me no more is seen. [28] —Tom Hunt

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T H E M IRROR So as my secretarial eye wandered at random up and down my class roll book, 1 have found interesting and varied names, which the hearers may be proud to claim. I personally feel proud that my office gives me the privilege of calling each of my august classmates, familiarly, hv name—cither first, last, or middle! —Doris Moslcv DAME FASHION RULES Seniors, like all Plrllipians—every one, in fact, except Queen Mary—are ruled by fashion. Sometimes, we don’t blame the Queen for refusing to buy a new hat when we remember this about Fashion: “She is a goddess troublesome, inconstant Strange in her tastes, in her adornments foolish; She appears, she vanishes, she returns at all times and seasons, Proteus was her sire and Fashion is her name.” Behold her votaries in the halls of Phillips. Some arc tall and stately as Juno— Emogene Broadhead, for instance. Some are petite Titanias like Sara McCoy. In spite of these differences in types, most girls march in line behind the colors of Dame Fashion. It just happens that Dame changes her colors every season. 'Phis season the most popular hue, next to black, which is always best, is green. Green, the brilliant, the sophisticated color! Appropriate to some—magnificent on red heads. And such a variety of greens we have! One year she adds a little blue and calls it aqua, next a little yellow, and lo. we have chautreuse. Well, this year, just to be different, she decided to call it just plain Green. Whispers from the fashion world, by the not-so-remote control of the grapevine, indicate that wine and plum run a close second in popularity. Independent Phillipians as wc are. we can’t always heed the dictates of Dame Fashion. When she calls for pastels, we choose the vivid, the bright, the gay! The uniform (practically) of the schoolgirl is the skirt and sweater. Definitely, the skirts arc short again as thej have been for two or three seasons; yet the best lines for skirts arc flared and pleated. Sweaters complete this universal uniform. 'This is the winter of the “Sloppy Joe, a large, roomy, casual looking sweater worn buttoned up the back. The fundamental idea in minds of all Phillipians is to look smartly sloppy! Now wait—I hear you saying that this statement contraducts itself, but nevertheless, it’s true—your clothes must be stylish, yet worn with a nonchalant air as if they just happened to fall on you correctly! Shoes—oh well, I give up—I think if one wants to see anything besides the saddle oxford she’d better change schools, for the saddle oxford rules supreme in Phillips! If you don’t believe it, look to the floor, mademoiselle, look to the floor! But for evening, then my lady twinkles. Peeping shyly from under the hems of gorgeous evening dresses, is the silver glitter, the golden sparkle, the sophisticated gleam of satin, the flashing metallic of the evening slipper. Her crowning glory! Spies, after going over every classroom with microscopic precision, report that as usual the girls arc wearing the long bob. These scouts noticed also that the “upsweep hair-do” did have a few adherents, but it proved too bard to keep and the young ’uns reverted to shoulder length bobs. Bows—a girl must have bows (beaus) or both kinds, but the ones to which I refer now are those worn on the hair. They’re every size, shape, and color! The streamer bow with its ends flying in the breeze, like a flag; the big bow to make big girls look coquettish; and every other kind of bow imaginable. If you want a beau, wear a bow. [27]

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The Mirror THE WANDERING MOON With the music of his lute, Apollo wooed the fair Diana in her sable celestial palace. The stars grouped themselves together in constellations to form chandeliers whose soft light filled the spacious halls. Each night, as the enchanting Goddess descended to meet her lover, the shadow of a beautifully formed woman danced down the stairs behind her. At length the God in regal robes of red and amber brought a companion. Hymen, laden with happy omens. During the ceremony he bestowed romance and congeniality on the blissful immortals. Two fair offsprings were born to Diana, a sturdy son, the image of his father, and a dainty daughter, as like her mother as the song of the lark is l;ke the soft music of a bubbling brook. So illuminant were they that they were named Sunlight and Moonlight. For many years the white dove of Peace spread her protecting wings over their home. Once, however, Jupiter in anger at the greed of mortals, hurled toward earth a thunderbolt that tore asunder their castle. In the confusion that followed. Sunlight closely walked in the footsteps of Apollo, and the smooth small hand of Moonlight tightly clung to Diana’s. After the storm, the Goddess and her delicate daughter began seaching for the other two. On and on across the skies they walked and still continue to pursue their journey. Sometimes they almost overtake them; often they are far away. When weariness overcomes Diana she pauses to lay her silver tresses on a fleecy cloud and dream. After a moment of refreshing sleep the stately Goddess always arises and wanders forever on along the pathless void of firmament. Once each month she and her daughter slip back to the rums of the palace hoping to find Apollo. Grief anew overtakes the chaste maiden; again she dons a black mourning stole over her flowing white robe. Hav'ng failed to find these loadstars of day, they again gravely venture forth. So wrapt in thought is the sedate lady that she does not know when Zephyr steals from her fair shoulder the cape loosely caught at her throat. On, on across the heavens everlastingly Diana, so devout in prayer, so steadfast in hope, wanders in search of her lost God. —Jean West THE LIBERATION OF HARMONY Harmony had lain for sometime in the gloomy, unpleasant surroundings of the gruesome dungeon of discord. The jailkeeper, a sombre fellow named Clangor, was a very unsociable individual who took great delight in denying Harmony’s slightest request. So, with this daily fatiguing routine, he found no inspiration to lift his voice in song. In fact, so long had he lain chained with a restriction of silence, that he was completely forgotten bv everyone except the jailer and a boyhood friend. At this stage of his oblivion a new king, Dominant the Seventh, ascended the throne. Among the counselors of the new king was Melody, the friend of Harmony, who told the young ruler of the plight of his cherished friend. He related to him the story of how Harmony had been incarcerated, how he had enlivened his natal village with his gay song, how the church had benefited by the added beauty of his notes and how he had romped in the fields with Melody in his youth. On hearing this appealing speech, the sovereign ordered Chord and Voice, two attendants, to free and bring out the ‘‘hidden soul” who had been so greatly wronged. Melody and Harmony were then united never again to he separated. The ruler and his courtiers perceived that Melody improved his thoughts as his ideas were blended with those of Harmony. The chains were loosed! Harmony was free! [29] —Malcolm Patterson