Butler High School - Magnet Yearbook (Butler, PA)

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THE SENIOR {MAGNET good reason for wanting to win. The school was there one thousand strong to back them up. I‘he Rockford students on the other side of the field, as their team came on the field, cheered their classmates into the game. The students came from Rockford in autos, trains and street cars and numbered about two hundred. The referee blew his whistle. The “subs,” who had been warming up with the “regulars,” now took their places on the bench. The two captains in the center of the field watched the “toss up.” Center won the kick-off. A few minutes later the referee’s whistle announced the beginning of the battle. “Jimmie' made a beautiful kick and they were off. Rockford received the kick on the five yard line and carried it ten yards. They tried to break through the Center line but could not, and were forced to punt. Moore, the Center quarter-back, received the punt and carried it fifteen yards. They could not find a hole in the Rockford line in three chances and were forced to punt back. In this way the first half was battled away, neither team being able to score. I he third quarter started with a dash. Center received the kick-off and carried it twenty yards. They made ten yards on a forward pass to the right end. They were too anxious and in the next play fumbled and lost the ball. Rockford worked a trick play and an end run, leaving just fifteen yards between them and a touchdown. Here the Center line tightened up and held them. They saw they could not run the ball over the line, and in their last down called “drop kick formation,” they made a nice kick. The third quarter ended with a score of three to nothing in Rockford’s favor. The last quarter started with the Center boys determined to win. Their fighting spirit was aroused and every man did his best. The last quarter was half over. Center had the ball, but there were seventy yards between them and the goal. McCandless was called t make a line plunge, lie hit the line hard and went through. The players piled up. The referee’s whistle blew, and they all got up but one. This was “Jimmie.” He had twisted his ankle in the mix-up, and had to go out of the game. The coach called to Johnny and said, “It’s up to you. As Johnny went into the game, he heard the cheers for the captain and wondered if his name would be honored by the school veil. The team did not give up hope after losing their captain, but fought harder. Rockford had the ball with three minutes to play. Johnny, playing just behind the line, noticed the right half move out a little. He did not know what the play was, but he thought the right half had something to do with it. The minute the ball was passed, the half ran out farther and Johnny after him. The ball was being forwarded to the half-back. Johnny saw this and jumped in front of him, grabbed the ball and started down the field. He had a clear field and how he did run, pursued by the whole Rockford team. It was the most brilliant and most needed fifty-yard run ever made on that field. The whistle blew just as he crossed the line, and the game was won. Everyone was as near the v.de-Iines as they could get, cheering for all they were worth. Who for? Why, Johnny, of course. Hadn’t he won the game against the old rival, as well as the championship for the season? He was carried to the gymn on the shoulders of his team-mates. The gym was in an uproar. The coach said that it was their ony chance and Johnny was on the job. It was all luck but that is what counts. That evening, as Johnny was going home, he met Dot. She said, “I’m glad you made the choice you did, because your chance came.”

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14 THE SENIOR (M A G N E T HIS CHOICE Carl McMurray It was Friday afternoon before the big game between Center High School and Rockford High School. These two high schools have been rivals in all athletics. Center had won the basket ball and baseball championships from Rockford in the spring term. They were going to do their uttermost to make a “clean sweep” by winning the football game on the next afternoon, which victory would mean the third championship of the year. That evening the team reported as usual and went through a light, but snappy signal practice. The coach, Robert Graham, better known as “Bob,” had selected a few special plays for the final game. When he was satisfied with the workout, he called the squad around him and gave them a few directions, emphasizing training rules.” This gallant and worthy machine, composed of eleven strong, sturdy boys, was captained by Jimmie McCandless. Jimmie was Center’s dashing full back and the main figure in the team, and he was well able to handle his job. The scrubs who had helped to develop the team deserved a credit they hardly ever get. They practiced against the first team every evening after school. I he first team outplayed the second in all ways and it wasn’t much fun to play against such odds. One scrub surely deserved credit and that was Johnny White. This was his last year and he wanted to carry a large red “C” to college with him. He tried, and tried hard, but had few chances against such a worthy competitor as the captain, for full-back was also his position. He was the best backfield man on the second team, and traveled with the first, never giving up hope of getting a chance to earn his letter. I hat very evening on the way home from practice, Johnny was tempted. He met Dorothy Madison, a class-mate, and close friend of his. “There is a party at Kennedy’s tonight, said Dot, “and I wondered if you would go.” “I’m sorry,” said Johnny, but 1 have to keep training rules. Big game tomorrow, you know.” “Oh! shucks!” answered Dot, “that is what you always say. You have kept training rules better than any other member of the team and go along with them only to keep the bench warm. You haven’t been in a game this season. And your chances will be pretty slim tomorrow. What’s the use?” Johnny was in a bad fix. He knew what “Dot” had said was right. Should he go or should he not? There was just one more game to play and it was the championship game. What if Jimmie got injured? Would he be needed. He would be true to his school in case he was needed. “I don’t think I can go,” said John. Dot did not even answer him, but turned and went down the street leaving him staring after her. He supposed his friendship with Dot was at an end, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted to do what was right. Saturday afternoon the boys were all arrayed in their togs of war, waiting for the coach’s signal to go onto the field. Just then the coach came in. “Boys,” said Bob,” “the game will be close and hard fought by both teams, but you can come out on top if you fight and fight for Center. Now go, and every man do his duty.” The stands were filled, the Center students on one side of the field, were out in full force, and when the team came on the field, they cheered loud and clear for the team. This gave the team a

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16 THE SENIOR £M A G N E T THE ARTIST ' Elizabeth Neill Last summer while visiting a college chum of mine, Dr. James, of Weston, I chanced upon a choice bit of a sad but interesting story. During the short interval between office hours the Doctor and 1 were strolling along a very picturesque mountain path when suddenly I noticed ahead of us at some distance a beautiful white cottage. The cottage, which nestled among trees, shrubs and climbing roses, was neither large nor small, and around the front and east side was a large porch, partly screened in by climbing roses. The lawn was spacious and of velvety green, which was broken in several places by small shrub bordered walks leading to and from the cottage. The effect was artistic, and not being accustomed to seeing homes like this in Weston, 1 immediately asked Dr. James who lived there. It was then the Doctor told me this story, which 1, in return, shall try to relate to you. Some fifteen years ago, there lived an artist, Mr. Rollesford, his wife and small daughter Elsa in New York. Mr. Rollesford struggled for success, not success itself but for what success meant for him. It meant health for Elsa, cheerful surroundings and new- supplies for his portraits, which were all so costly. But his greatest desire was the restoring of Elsa’s health. Mrs. Rollesford, too, was much concerned about the present state of Elsa’s health, and, when she was not posing for her husband, she walked with Elsa in a near park. It was during one of these walks that little Elsa was kidnapped. Her mother, while admiring some new blooms, missed Elsa’s childish prattle, and turning around and not seeing her, began calling. But no Elsa answered. She ran, fran- tic with fear, till she met a policeman. Elsa’s description was given him, but the officer had seen no such child; but he had seen a high powered motor swing out of the park gate quite rapidly. A search was made. The Rollesfords spent all their money running down clues, and finally they decided to leave New York and search for Elsa themselves. During this search Mrs. Rollesford took ill and died, partly from grief and constant exposure, although Mr. Rollesford sacrificed much for the comfort of his wife. A new grief now entered the life of the aritst. 1 le wandered, lonely and poor, from one town to another and finally settled in a little log cabin where now stands the white cottage. He stopped painting portraits, because there was no one to pose for him, and every time he tried to paint, the last picture of his wife and child together as they laughingly waved good-bye on their departure to the park, loomed before him in a never-to-be-forgotten memory. He now put all that was left of a broken man in scenery pictures. And what small prices he got for them he saved in order to enable him to return to New York to enter his new picture, “The Setting Sun,” in the next art exhibit. The picture was a work of art and raised many questions as to where the unknown artist came from. It sold for an enormous sum, as did all the other pictures of the artist. 'This enabled him to stay in New York. It meant friends, position and wealth. But still the artist was not happy, he had not forgotten the sorrows in the days of utter poverty. They were written indelibly on his mind and were reflected in his sad gray eyes. Again the artist went back to his cabin, but not as he went before. This time he