Ball High School - Purple Quill Yearbook (Galveston, TX)

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W ffl A GLJVGCLVVLZQJ C9149 The silver brocade of the bright, full moon Shone down through a lace of leaves And fell on the face of a clear, quiet pool Bound about by a margin of trees. A wide, smooth lawn stretched all about Like a carpet with silver warp And the breeze played sweetly a silver tune On the strings of a silver harp. And then the breeze was quieted As though by some great hand, The moon looked down and marvelled At the stillness of the land. There was a silence by that pool Cleft by a single thing, The lonely trill of some night-bird That felt compelled to sing. The song chimed forth like a silver bell And settled on the pool, Then melted downward soft and slow, ln a silent, silver school. -by Patricia Thomas 100

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iff Wwe a Senior: by Kathleen fBobo5 Duncan a sophomore The seniors at Ball High are really a swell group, but like most typical seniors, Ilm afraid they forget that everyone canlt be a walking encyclopedia, or Hedy Lamarr, or Clark Gable. Now if I were a senior, I'd show the little sophs around the halls willingly without sarcasm at their ignorance in not being able to get Where they are going by themselves. I would take them to the cafe- teria and the library and cheerfully lead them to that English class tucked away in some obscure place. When some innocent Cand ignorantj little sophomore ask-ed me how to work that extra hard algebra problem or what caused Athens' downfall, or why this was the subject and that the predicate, I would try to explain clearly and patiently. After all, that soph can't help his ignorance. Ignorance, I would remind myself, is bliss. I certainly w0uldn't stay up nights slaving to make an 'A' on that civics exam, as seems to be the tendency of most seniors. If I had succeeded thus far, surely I could stick it out just one more year. Naturally I wouldnit worry about not having a bid to the senior dance. Why, with my beauty and brains, the boys would just flock! And about falling flat on my face at graduation! Why I would have perfect confidence in my ability to cross the stage of the City Auditorium without falling down and breaking my nose. Another thing-I wouldn't protest at having my picture put up in the halls to smile down on children of the next generation, because I,d know that it wouldn't frighten anyone, much. It looks as though I'd be a perfect senior, the type every sopho- more likes and respects at the same time, but if I should slip up some- where, please don't blame me. Vile can't all be perfect, you know! ' ' apwmas by Elinor Olson a senior i After battling my way this far, to the realms of seniorhood,', why must I turn back to face that plight again? Isn't the sophomore year full of enough problems? Vlfhich way should I turn to avoid that domineering senior's eye as he waits with a load of books for my aching arms? Is there no end to this registration line? Haven't I walked up and down the same steps one dozen times, and yet where am I? 101