Burbank Junior High School - Wizard Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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approach of winter The storm has come. ' The pines are moaning; The old oak ' s groaning; The lightning flashing, The thunder crashing, The wind a mighty blast. The storm has come. ' Now snow is swirling, Dead leaves are whirling; The earth grows blank, A pure white bank. And winter ' s here at last. --Florence Booth, L9 TRY AGAIN Harry Burton sat down by his locker reflecting that life was terri- ble and college was worse. He was a low senior, six feet three inches tall, and nineteen years old, who had always wanted to be a track star. He had won m„re than one race, but he lacked nerve. Years ago the doc- tor had said that Harry ' s heart was weak; Harry never forgot ' hose words and imagined that his heart was still weak. During tveiy herd r ce , when the stab of pain that every runner must endure hit him, Harry quit. as Harry sat by his locker pitying himself and his heart, his pal, Brick Hayward, walked in. brick came right to the point. You are yel- low ' Just plain yellow. ' ho said. Are you trying to tell me--? began Harry. Brick hastily replied. I ' m trying to tell you that there ' s nothing wrong with chat heart of yours. Do you re lize that the Hartford event is two weeks off and you sit here pitying yourself? You know that I can ' t boat bill Slowton In the 820, said Harry, I didn ' t last time or the time before and J never will. ' bisten, Sis. have you sver heard the words ' Try again ' ? With this Erick walked out. Two weeks passed. The Hvrtford, Billburt , and Gayford men were all out on the cinders warming up. Brick, the captain, looked up and saw Harry anxiously watching Pill Slowton, Hertford ' s fast- est man. For the first time in two weeks, Brick spoke ip Harry. He said, Are you going to try to win, Sis? Harry looked into those steady gray eyes and said, I ' ll try. The rest of the events wont only too quickly for Harry and before he knew it, On your narks. Get set: Co! • Thoy were off! Slowton of Hartford first, Berry second, and the Billburt mar next Harry ' s mind was working as smoothly us his brawny legs. He had purposely If t Slowton get aaeai of him to m ike him use more wind but now re, Harry Burton of Gaylord College, w is put to his greatest test. He knew chat he could p-:ss Slowton, but his heart! I have no heart. mutt. -red Harry, deliberately. He gathered all his speed and tried to pass dlov ton but he coulun ' t! With a surprised look on hie face, he trie again, and again. F tin clawed every limb, I ' ll try, he muttered. Something hit his chest very lightly and then all went black. He woko up in his own bed in the fraternity house. That awful pain was gone and he hoard Erick ' s familiar voice saying Yoh, -Bis, you did try, huh? -- Jacqueline Wri ht, H9

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SICK LITTLE BABY From a worn little hut made only of sod, Came the heart-rending plea of a mother to God. Her clothes were all tattered; the babe, blue with cold; From worry and hardships the mother was old. Oh please, God, she pleaded to Him up above. Please don ' t take my baby; he ' s all that I love. You ' ve taken most everything else that I had, Oh, God, take my baby and I shall go mad! Far into the night her sad vigil she kept While the sick little baby still feverishly slept. From a worn little hut made only of sod. Came the heart-rending plea of a mother to God. To the worn little hut made only of sod An angel descended with orders from God. The agonized mother now dropped to her knees And sent to the Father her heart-broken pleas. The sick little baby sighed deeply and went With the lovely white angel the Father had sent. --Irene Kehoe, L9 THE LUCKY CHAMPION The crowds were wild with applause. All eyes were on the fighting sweating, half-mad men in the field. They fought as fiercely as man will for love, honor, or fame. You think that I am describing a boxing match or a football game, but no, this is the year 1194; we are at the lists at Ashby. The men who have entered this tournament are becoming exhausted. As a man drops, he is crnshed by a warrior ' s galloping horse. Only three knights are left, one with a red maltese cross on his shield and two who have skulls painted on their black breast plates. The man with the red cross fights a brave but losing battle. He can not stand the powerful charges of the black knights. A pause for breath; then the battle goes on. By some ill luck the steed of one of the black knights stumbles over a groaning man. The knight falls to the ground. The Red Knight charges upon his opponent, who is too stunned by his friend ' s de parture to defend himself. The red cross on the knight ' s shield can be seen far away as he sweeps his antagonist to the ground. The winning knight is showered with honors. --Nels Nelson, L9

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UNSELFISH ANNE Let ' s see, what does it need? Anne asked herself, gazing ahead of her. She was looking at an easel, with a canvas painting spread over it. A dash of red there, and a touch of this here. There, that ' s bet- ter, but not quite the way I wanted it, she sighed. Anne was a girl of sixteen, who had real talent as an artist. Lunch is ready, said a neatly uniformed maid. Thanks, I ' ll be there in a minute, answered Anne. Taking off her gray, paint-spattered smock, she hung it up, put away her paints, washed her hands, and went down stairs. Did .you finish your painting? asked Mrs. Andrews. Yes, I did, but I ' m rather disappointed with it. You will have to start your painting for the contest soon, won ' t you? asked her mother. I ' m going to start this afternoon, she answered. Anne worked for many days on her painting. When it was finished she was pleased with it. Because of her father ' s high position, and the good work of the picture, she was sure she would win the Artists ' Scholarship. The day arrived when they were to enter their paintings. Anne had hers hung in a prominent place. She walked around to compare the paint- ings. No, none were any better than hers. Then, suddenly, she saw a masterpiece. The person who had painted this had genius, not mere tal- ent. Who was it? Joan Williams, one of the poorest girls Anne knew. The picture was of a girl in a red dress, standing on a beach with roaring white waves. Beside her was a white and gold collie. The girl was brown and tattered; her black hair waved wildly in the wind. My t this is beautiful, thought Anne. Everyone take his seat and the judges will decide on the award, said a stately gentleman. They nervously took their seats. The judges walked slowly around. All the paintings were eliminated but two, Anne ' s and Joan ' s. The judges picked one out. Anne could not see which. They were ready to an- nounce now. The winner is-- there was a deep breath, Joan Williams. We had a hard time to make the decision between Anne Andrews and Joan Williams, but we find Miss Williams ' s is the better. Congratulations, Joan, said Anne. Oh, thank you, I am sorry you didn ' t win, but I wanted it so. You needed it more than I, answered Anne. You are wonderful to take it this way, said Joan, Anne walked home with a light step. She was not sorry, after she had seen how happy the award made Joan. Did you win? asked Mrs. Andrews, seeing Anne ' s happy face. No, I didn ' t, and I ' m glad, because she really needed it more than I, answered Anne cheerfully. Well, I have never seen such a girl, thought Mrs. Andrews. I ' m proud of my unselfish daughter. --Martha Collins, H8