Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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UTER RRY

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Stable of (Sottients Literary (drawing) 8 “Blood Will Tell” 9 “The Desert Rat” 13 “Little Star Dreamer” (poem) 15 ‘Purple Cassius” 16 “The Lost Ship” (poem). 18 “An Old Manuscript” 19 “Reveries” (poem) 23 Seniors 24 Pictures 25 Class History 33 Class Prophecy 35 Class Will . 40 Analy Union High School (cut) 43 . Faculty Pictures 44 “Thanksgiving Tide” (poem) 46 Editorial 47 Our Gymnasium 49 School Notes 51 Athletics 55 “The Merchant of Venice”. 65 “Sylvia” - 66 Junior Class 68 Sophomore Class . 69 Freshmen Class 70 Class Notes 71 Horoscope 72 Alumni 74 Exchanges 78 “Kind Heart” (poem) 79 Joshes 80 Analy Snap-Shots 81 Advertising Section . 83

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Jitil SMI (A true story) N the year 1850 Jasper O’Farrel, an Irish engineer who ( 3 ) came to California in the early 30’s, bought from an original grantor for a few cattle, a piece of land that now comprises almost all of western Sonoma county. “Jose,” said O’Farrel one morning to a tall, straight, black haired, black eyed young fellow who was smoking a cigarette and lazily sunning himself on the east side of an old adobe barn, “you and Pat get on your ponies and go to Fort Ross after that bunch of steers we took up there last fall. You better pack Old Baldy up with enough grub to last a week, because those steers will sure be wild and will round up like a pack of antelope.” Jose was twenty-one years old. His mother was a squaw, but his father was a Spanish gentleman, at one time a rich ranchero, who lost his fortune, and, incidentally, committed sucide when his big black failed by a nose length to beat out a little bay filly, on one of the numerous holiday festivals of early California. Jose’s heritage was a pair of silver spurs, taken in the sack of the Alhambra, a red silk scarf, and the ability to sit on anything on four legs. It was the latter that got him his job on the O’Farrel ranch. Pat, O’Farrel’s nephew, a mere boy, was an irresponsible, blue eyed, red haired, wiry little Irishman, the favorite of the ranch and neighborhood. “Yes, my friend, that was a very good throw, but it would be better if you would make your arm and wrist do more work; sit up straight and don’t sway so.” It was Jose who said this to his friend and protege, the young Pat, when the latter had at last, after about the thir¬ teenth attempt, successfully roped the Irishman. They were riding along in the little valley a few miles above what is now the town of Cazadero, where the Austin Creek ceases its tumb- ling, and travels in a leisurely dignified course for a few hun¬ dred yards. It was the middle of the afternoon on the first day of their trip after the cattle. “Regard me closely, Amigo, and I will show you how. Get a few paces further away. Ah! now that’s it; watch!” 9