Banning High School - San Gorgonian Yearbook (Banning, CA)

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FRESHMAN CLASS Fifty-three Indian youths and maidens filed into the huge forest of High School Land one sunny day late in September, 1927. They had just come from a land far distant, known as Grammar School, and they were eager to make new friends and become acquainted with the customs of this new land. This new tribe of Indians is the largest to ever enter the Banning Union High School. They were soon trudging through the leaves of the forest, leaves of Alge- bra, Latin, Spanish, History and many others, Later on in the same week, they once again gathered around a big tree and held a consultation. They chose George Barker as big chief of the tribe, and agreed on Miss Thayer as the wise man to advise them in all of their important steps. Louise Bramlette was chosen to represent this new tribe in the Student Council, but she left them later in the year and Clarice Cothran succeeded her. Evans Fitzpatrick became wampum keeper, but he also went away, leaving Philip Coombs to take his place. This tribe of ’31 became full fledged members of this group of Indians one evening when they were initiated by their elders. They worked earnestly to capture some of the leads in the Tribal Plays and the Operetta. They seem to have succeeded, as a number of the leading parts were acted by Freshmen. The Indian braves went out strongly for atbletics as well, and intend to do the same in coming activities. 19 Wh, SS PAGE EIGHTEEN

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SOPHOMORE CLASS In a large wigwam situated on San Gorgonio road in the pueblo of Banning thrive a band of Indians consisting of four tribes. The head of the Sophomore tribe is Chief Harley Morrin, who was chosen nine moons ago, last May, 1927, for his pop- ularity among all the braves and maidens. We have entered in councils under the auspices of our Great Head, Mrs. Silverwood, whom we hold in awe and reverence. Two clans of th e tribe are the Girl Reserves, which take in the greater part of the maidens, and the Forestry Club, which takes in most of the braves. The braves have gone on the warpath often, meeting in conflict with tribes of other schools and sometimes returning with victory, then making merry for days. On being allied with the Freshman clan we worshiped the Fire God in a weinie bake at the foot of Hall’s Grade, at which there was much dancing and singing and feats of prowess. Many maidens and braves have come to our pueblo and have become one of our tribe. Some have left us for other tribes in other pueblos, so that our numbers have been about the same all during the term. No matter who has joined us, we have all remained true to our colors of purple and white. We chose these colors while still in the Freshman clan. We also owned headdresses of purple and white, which added to our dignity in the B. U. H. S. tribe. In February, 1928, a warfare was waged when the Senior tribe and the Sopho- more tribe met in a great debate. The Seniors were victorious, and the pipe of peace was offered to us when they shook hands all ‘round. On March 13, all the tribes intermingled in what was called “Tacky Day.” Many different headdresses and kinds of clothes were worn and we all had a very good time together. Such is the history of the Sophomore tribe, which is now a large one and respect- ed by all the people. —P. S. PAGE SEVENTEEN

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“ LITERARY SECTION DESERT GLORIES High above the silent desert Then retires from sight leaving the world Slowly, softly, shadows shorten, All alone. As the sun climbs high and higher. Slowly the shadows of cacti lengthen, Sun-baked flowers look up and smile, But still the sun throws out its beauty, Soon to wince at the gaze of the sun; Reflecting colors in the sky. Sands reflect the morning radiance, Here a splash of golden yellow, Brightening the drab dunes of the waste There a streak of glowing rose Separated, joined and mingled With the blue of skies beyond. In the hidden glories of the twilight Shadows softly seem to deepen, And the splendors of the sand dunes Wrap themselves in darkest night, Hager to find a cooler place And like sentinels of the desert To rest their hot and sun-scorched feet. Cacti stand alone and watch, A desert bird appears in haste, Guarding o’er the waste land treasures Utters a short-breathed, panting cry Till they sparkle with the sun. From a dry and heat parched throat, —Dorothy Page. land Into a blinding, sparkling world, Wrapped in stillness, Silent as death, Except for the snapping of a twig As rabbits scamper from shade to shade “MELON TIME IN DIXIE LAND” twilight; a still breeze was blowing, and the air was fra- It was a balmy summer with their day’s. work grant with the smell of summer flowers. All were through in the rear of Oak Dale plantation, and all was quiet except g of a banjo. The negro men were of the colony and were discus- out in the negro colony for the hum of voices and the occasional strummin gathered together over by the brick well in the center sing the events of their day in the fields. Small dusky pickaninnies were playing out in front of the crowded one and two room cabins. Angeline and Alfonso, the Romeo and Juliette of the colony, were sit- ting under a large oak out of sight of the colony, but Alfonso’s deep bass came floating back, singing: “Good night ma’ Angeline, Farewell ma’ gal so fin-nn-ee. Leaving time is grieving time. Hates to part with baby mine. Night time was made for loving, It’s the right time for turtle doving.” Old Granny Cindy was sitting on a soap box out in front of her cabin, smoking A great sorrow had befallen Granny many years before, and her old corn cob pipe. old pipe as her best friend and sits out in front of her cabin now she clings to her and smokes it all day long. Everyone was happy tonight, and why shouldn’t he be? Wasn’t tomorrow the happiest day of all the year? It was the day when all the darkies gathered together from miles around and celebrated the ripening of the watermelons. On this day of days every mammy had a new gingham gown. Many people came from miles around, and they were allowed to eat all of the beloved fruit that they could possibly hold as well as feast on possum pie, sweet taters, and other foods dear to the negro’s heart. In the evening they could dance to their hearts content and enjoy themselves as only a carefree darky can. PAGE NINETEEN