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

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“a ¢ Fp GH 4 oon ah i Rie ee haters eo 3 Ew en oe oe oD ¥ ley Se 8 ee OD mh as =p te} isl ish eh =! AT VIKGAN PAGE TWENTY-FIVE

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and valley and back again, urged by some strange instinct, past the flowing water of the rivers and over the golden sands of the desert to the blue waters of the sea, but they could not find the rest they sought. In their journey they reached one morning the mountain, San Jacinto. There on the summit they gazed down below and saw there beneath them springs and green spotted places. They sang all night about the suffering and hardships they had undergone, and as the first light of dawn appeared, many of the birds, mostly the humming birds, found the rest they sought in the oasis of Sereh, The time came when my visit was to end, and I felt that never could I again be wholly happy away from this land of Indian romance. This last story was told not only with the hope of satisfying me, but also to bring a glorious ending to my even- ing’s entertainment. Years ago when the tribe was still strong, an Indian Chief often went to bathe the weariness from his limbs. Even now a gurgling, laughing spring grasps you and pulls you down into the water baby’s abode. One morning an Indian squaw came to the spring and there lying on its side she saw Bae-a-ne-wit. She stopped to pick him up but immediately he fell into the water and was gone. Later an Indian brave came to get some water. As he neared the spring he saw the water baby standing and looking toward San Jacinto, The baby turned and looked at him and then disappear- ed. Loud splashes shot up into the air, and the ground shook and trembled. Among our Indian tribes still lingers many tales which are to us like a voice from the past, plaintive and haunting. But now that Time has covered their villages, buried their deeds, and given their land to the white people, they are silent. Ah! the Indian legend, the record of the redskins, the blessing to mankind, the picture of the moonlit waters and adobe villages, and a young warrior giving homage to his gods. —Reta Hansen THE DESERT ANGEL Half way down old San Jacinto is a figure of an angel in the rocks. Even the cruel desert has a spark of the Divine. Her wings are opened, but not in flight; her hands are clasped benignly at her breast; her face is a mist; and her feet fade into the rocks of which she is a part. She is there in the dawning to bid the morning star farewell and to welcome the daybreak; she is there to guide the traveler through desert heat; she is still there when the purple shades of eventide color the low hills of the east. She is there when all is dark, where she may watch the golden moon peep over the black ranges, hesitate on the brink and sail calmly and majestically into the great sky-dome. The desert angel has seen the desolate winter below her and has felt the snow fall gently on her wings; the first signs of spring with blankets of frail flowers have gladdened her heart. She has watched the desert brightened by El color del oro. She has felt the suffocating heat of summer, and has seen the Choco- late range hidden by haze. She has heard the echoes of the sand storm as it swirls around the rocky points. The rains of autumn have cooled her parched lips. The tips of her gray white wings touch the top of the steep desert hill. With hands outstretched she softly sings, “Suena, my desert, be still.” —Betty Mixsell PAGE TWENTY-FOUR

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SHOLARSHIP SOCIETY (With apologies to Longfellow) From the mountain peaks of Knowledge, Gitche Manito, the mighty, Called the tribes of men together, ‘alled to them to pause and listen. Over them he stretched his right hand To subdue their stubborn nature, Spake to them with voice majestic, “Listen to the words of wisdom” Should you ask me whence this story, Whence these legends and traditions, I should answer, I should tell you, From the forests and the prairies, From the giant halls of Learning, From the land of education, If still further you should ask me, Saying ‘What is Scholarship? Tell us of this Scholarship,” I should answer your inquiries Straightway, in such words as follow: In the green and lovely valley Guarded by the lofty mountains Dwell the wisdom seekers, Ever studying, ever striving. Ye who love the books of nature, Love the sunshine of athletics, Love the shadow of mathematics, Love the English with its branches, And the Latin and the Spanish, And the rushing through of histories, Listen to these worthy legends, To this story of the Scholarship! Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, You believe, that in all ages Every human heart is human, That in even student bosoms There are longings, yearnings, strivings For the glory that they know not, That the feeble minds and wills Groping blindly in the darkness Are lifted up and strengthened 3y the willing hand of Scholarship Who shall be a Prophet to you, Who shall guide and teach you, Who shall toil and suffer with you. If you listen to his counsels, You'll attain your great ambitions. If his warnings pass unheeded, You will fade away and perish! PAGE TWENTY-SIX