Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

 - Class of 1933

Page 13 of 68


Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1933 Edition, Page 13 of 68
Page 13 of 68

Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA) online yearbook collection, 1933 Edition, Page 12
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Page 13 text:

Summer Sunset From where I stood upon the hill Gazing out into the west, I saxv the sea aglow with flame While the sun sank to its rest. Each ivhitecapped wave was tinged with gold, The salt spray gleamed with light As behind the purple mountain peak The sun dropped out of sight. Oh, that I could but have painted That blaze of throbbing ire And on my palette bravely sketched The dying sunset ' s fire! Ynez Johnston. Spsirk INiifjK mill Keys e were all sitting around the big, brick fireplace. The log was burn- ing merrily while the wind howled outside and the rain fell in tor- rents. " Uncle Bill, " I said to my uncle who was whittling a whistle for my young brother, " won ' t you please tell us a story? " " Well, " he replied in his usual drawl, " I have one that I don ' t think you ' ve ever heard. It ' s pretty interestin ' too. " " Oh, begin quickly, " we all begged and pulled our chairs up to the fire. " It was way back in 1920, " he began, " when I still owned and oper- ated my horse ranch up in Mendocino County. I lived about fourteen miles from Point Arena and Gualala on a place called Sail Rock Ranch because there was a rock right in front of it that looked just like a sail. " It was about the middle of summer, and we had been havin ' a lot of fish-fries and picnics on the beach. We had a few dances down at Gualala too, and I reckon you can imagine what fun we had. Well, this is where my story begins. One Saturday night I picked up my gal, Sally, in my old flivver and took her down to the dance in celebration of Bill Carey ' s birthday. We got there in fine time and had a great evenin ' . At eleven o ' clock we started for home as the flivver couldn ' t go very fast. I left Sally at eleven-thirty and then hit out for the ranch. " I was going along easily until I came to Schooner Gulch where old Mac McNamee lives. At the end of the gulch there was a beach, and to my surprise I saw some lanterns and a fire on it. " ' Well, ' I said to myself, ' Mac must be in trouble with his lines. I guess I ' ll go down and see what the fuss is all about. ' I pulled on the brakes and strolled down kinda quietly. " As I came on the beach, I didn ' t see anybody, and I was just about to shout when I felt the muzzle of a gun in my back, and a harsh voice said, ' What do you want, feller? ' " I was startled, and, as five men closed in on me, I said in the gruffest

Page 12 text:

flitting shadows appeared every time she opened her eyes. All was black in this house. No, in this tent. No, where was she? " Mother, Dad, John! Where are you? Can ' t you hear me? " No answer. She was trembling. She looked around. She saw shiny things like shiny stars, like silver and gold, lots and lots of it! Treasure! Golden treasure! Beauty had led her to the golden treasure which her mother and dad had told her about. Where were they? She got on Beauty ' s back and started to find the apple orchards. Miles and miles they traveled. Beauty knew where green, apple leaves were to be found and soon they rode into camp. Jeanne told her night ' s adventure to her mother and father and open- mouthed " Sleepyhead " . Her parents did not hesitate to investigate Jeanne ' s story, and she became not only the finder of Beauty but also the discoverer of Hidden Treasure. Lois Jones. A True Hear Story " h, George, do you think it will be safe? " asked Mrs. Laine fear- W fully. " Why, of course! " replied her husband. " I wouldn ' t think of leaving you here alone if it wasn ' t. " George Laine was a well-to-do, young, busi- ness man, married and with two small children. He was building a sum- mer cabin in the foothills of the Sierras. All was finished now except the windows and doors. He was called away to the city on business before he had had time to finish his cabin. He was leaving his pretty, young wife, Marjorie Laine, and the children up at the cabin. As he drove away, Mar- jorie felt a queer feeling in her throat as if something was going to happen while he was gone. While they were eating that evening, they chattered away as usual, but Marjorie still had that queer feeling. Now everything was still, as it was probably about eleven o ' clock. The moonlight fell in silver patches upon the rough floor through the unfinished windows. Marjorie heard a faint cry and started. In a second she was at the children ' s beds. It was nothing, merely a little dream. She crawled back into bed but couldn ' t get back to sleep. She kept hearing noises that she didn ' t like or understand. She turned over. A half hour passed. She was just dozing off when a scratching noise completely awakened her in a second. She sat up and tried to believe her husband ' s last words about there being no danger. Then a huge, dark figure loomed in the doorway. Marjorie was too scared to move and was actually too petrified with fright to scream. All sorts of thoughts raced through her mind. From around the side of this terrifying, bulky shape came another much smaller. Marjorie then recognized a great brown bear and her cub. The cub started to waddle into the room, and the mother took a few, clumsy steps after it. Marjorie then found her voice and let out a couple of terrified yet lusty screams. The children were awake in a few seconds and joined in the chorus. The cub turned away yelping, and soon both bears disappeared. They did not appear again that night, and I dare say they were just as scared as Marjorie and her little family. Mary Fulmer.

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voice I could assume, T thought old Mac was in trouble with his lines and I came down to lend a hand. ' " ' Well, ' he replied, ' we don ' t want you around here. Now git! ' " ' Wait a minute, Bud, ' one of the men called out. ' Why don ' t you make him lend a hand? ' " ' Good idea. Come here, buddy. ' I turned around, and came back. The man called Bud said to me, ' See that boat out there? I looked quickly out into the ocean and there saw a fishing schooner riding at anchor in the little bay. " Again he spoke. ' See that truck? ' I turned to the road Mac had made and saw the object of which he spoke. ' Well, you ' re going to help unload and load kegs on those. Now, get busy! ' " It took us almost two hours to finish, and, when the fire had been put out and the lanterns were extinguished, Bud came to me. ' You ' ve worked well. Would you like a keg? ' " I ' m not a heavy drinker, but an offer like that was too good to be true. ' Sure, ' I said eagerly and started up to the truck. " ' Wait a minute, ' he rasped. ' Have you got a car? ' " I told him where it was, and he said finally, ' We ' ll leave your keg there. Now stay here for ten minutes after we leave, or you ' re a dead man. Get me? ' He rushed toward the truck and the driver started up the road. " I waited ten minutes, then ran to my car so that I might hurry home and get to bed. I looked everywhere for the keg but to my eager eyes there was no keg in sight. My blood was up. I stepped in the car and jabbed at the starter viciously. The motor turned over, but that was all it did. After ten minutes I looked under the hood to discover the trouble. When I opened the hood, to my utter astonishment a hammer fell out. I wasn ' t astonished long, but I was mad for before me lay a row of spark plugs completely smashed to pieces! " I walked five, long miles home and arrived there at two o ' clock. Mac helped me bring the flivver home the next day, and my anger soon wore off. Just remember this, if you work for a crook with a gun over you the whole time, don ' t expect anything but crooked work in the end! " Betty Berrybitt. Just a ' Brook Tumbling, rollicking over the rocks, Dancing with sunbeams in glee, Fringed by ferns and beautiful trees, Is this little brook so free. Evil here does not exist For beauty around us lies In this place of quiet and rest Beneath our very eyes. Away from the city, away from the town, Where people and noises rule, Is this beautiful thing made by Nature and God, Just a brook, clear, calm, and cool. Constance Williams.

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