Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

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it they placed a large saw horse and then a heavy plank was placed on that with a strong box on the end of that. Then a rope was attached to the other end of the plank and fastened securely to the other end of the fort. When everything was finished they found a large rock as heavy as all of them could carry and placed it in the box. The rope was let loose and up flew the rock. The force was so strong that it flew straight over and fell right in the middle of Main Street in Chinatown. Xo damage was done but the Chinamen, being superstitious, were badly frightened. They did not know about the boys and their fort. After that the boys did not revisit their fort for a number of days, thinking the Chinamen would suspect who had done it. But a few days later an old Chinaman came up from the town and told the people about the great rock that had fallen from the heavens. The boys, hearing this, decided to try it again; so the next day they arranged their catapult differently so that the rock would fall in a different spot. This time it landed on top of a Chinaman’s house, went through the roof and injured one of the family pretty badly. Still another rock they threw that afternoon. This landed in another house, altho it did not injure anyone. By this time the Chinamen suspected something and tried to find out where the rocks came from. Three days later an old Chinaman passed the boys’ fort just as they entered. From the fact that they had obeyed the order not to go to Chinatown again, he thought nothing of it; but later in the day when another rock came flying over the town he told what he had seen, so two Chinamen were stationed to watch the boys’ fort. They were soon rewarded. Out came a large rock and sailed over the town. Then there was a “pow wow.” Out came all the Chinamen and the boys heard them coming. Dad and two other boys watched the gate while the rest cleaned up the catapult. When the Chinamen came, one demanded to be let in. They saw no traces of the catapult; so they went off and still wonder, I guess, where those rocks came from, but Daddy and the boys never tried that again for it was too dangerous a sport. (' o ’9 (271

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From here the only effort exerted on his part is the mental strain of missing other “flivvers” and dodging telephone poles, barb-wire fences, rat-terrier pups, etc., etc. But this is the fatal stage of the game. When the person discovers that speed can be obtained without exerting a pro- portionate amount of effort, he sooner or later lands in one of the beautiful public buildings mentioned above. If it is not the second named building, i. e., the morgue, he becomes from that time on a confirmed speed-maniac and should be treated as such wherever seen. I firmly believe that man’s one glorious dream, the hope of getting to heaven, is based solely on his desire to secure a pair of wings with which he hopes to make better time than is possible here on earth. w t r 90 Father’s Experience with the Chinamen ADDY was always fond of relating stories of his boy- hood days; and some of his queerest experiences were in La Port with the Chinamen. One evening he told me the following: Chinatown was about a mile below La Port, on the creek. Every evening after the La Port school let out the boys would get a raft and go down to Chinatown to hear the old China- men’s troubles about their mines. Of course, the boys always expressed ready sympathy, although they felt none—and would have added to the old fellows’ troubles if they could; but they had lots of fun watching them at their work with their crude implements, often playing tricks on them when their backs were turned. This did not last long, for the Chinamen wern’t always to be fooled. Finally they told the boys to come no more. The boys knew they meant busi- ness and so the next day called a council of war. “What shall we do to them?” asked George, one of the toughest of the bunch. “They’ve told us not to come any more and they’re a dangerous lot when mad.” “Well, we don’t have to go near them if we don’t want to. We can float all sorts of trash down the creek and dam it up,” answered Frank; but it seems that would injure some of the boys’ fathers, too, so that scheme was given up. “Say, why can’t we fix up one of those things to throw rocks like we had the other day,” said one of the boys. “Gee, that gives me an idea,” yelled Dad, hopping out of his seat. “We’ll make a catapult.” And so it was decided. The next day they swiped enough lumber for a fort anil went down the creek about a hundred yards from the town. There they made their fort. Inside of

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How It Snows in Westwood With Apologies to Warner w ESTWOOD is favored or cursed, according to one’s flf opinion, by two kinds of snow. Fear not, gentle reader, we do not have pink and red snow; but we have two distinct methods by which the pure white blanket de- scends. The first method is the one by which on December the fifteenth we have six feet on the level and your neighbor makes use of the phone instead of favoring you with her presence all the morning. This type is sagely called by old timers like A1 Duhme “A Minnesota Winter.” It is gloried in by small boys and feared and dreaded by school-teachers and adults at large. Of this, one may well use the saying, “it is to be with us always,” but on March twentieth a thaw is started by a “chinook” wind. In two weeks there is the customary red dust and we are on our way to a happy summer filled with forest fires, yard fires, town fires, and then more fires. The second kind arrives by a different route. It snows on October first. The sky is gray and filled with whirling snow- flakes. Old timers like Hill Allen prophesy a hard winter, proceed to hire three extra plumbers and lay in a case of gasoline torches. On October fifth we have a foot of snow and most of the teamsters quit. “Doc” Brown and Xels Israelson are in a great stew. The sky is overcast and filled with clouds. On October seventh the sun shines and water runs not in streams but in rivers. Great sales of rubber footwear occur at the Red River Department Store. On October tenth we have an inch of dust in front of the Westwood Club. Autos are like flies. Appear several “I told you it wouldn’t last,” including Hill Allen. Then we have fine weather until, on December twentieth, many youngsters are filled with great anxiety lest Santa Claus may lx unable to get to Westwood for lack of snow. We are awakened on the next morning by a whistling, roaring wind. It threatens to blow the house down around our ears and topple all the forest over. Young ladies vainly fight ballooning skirts and appreciative men stand in leeward corners. We venture forth and are forthwith covered, filled and surrounded by dust and cinders. Oh, those Westwood cinders! Though I live to be an old, old man and die on the South Sea Isles I shall never forget our cinders. Pittsburg at its worst has no greater reputation than Westwood, for the steel magnates do not burn sawdust. A cinder alights on your pants-cuff and before you can organize an effective resistance and throw out a barrage the same cinder is in your eye.