Central Junior High School - Junior Classic Yearbook (South Bend, IN)

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F.. . THE Jcxioit Ctassic Our Journey to the U. S. My mother, sister, two brothers, and I lived in Bucharest, Rumania, two years before we came to the United States. My father left us there while he came to America-to this great land of freedom. During our stay in Bucharest I went to a public school there. Their public schools are entirely different from ours. I studied Rumanian and Hebrew, since I could take up any language I wished. It seems to me that if any American student should go to a public school in Rumania, it would appear very strange and queer to him. After remaining in Bucharest for two years, we received word from my father to prepare our- selves for our long journey to the United States. I was very sorry to leave Bucharest since I had made many true and worthy friends. Otherwise I looked forward to out trip. After much preparation, hustling and bustling we arrived at our ship, the Madano lFabre Linej. It was a very large ship. We had many amusements and pleasures on the ship. In the mornings we played games, in the afternoons we usually watched the quiet or Stormy waters, ot went to the library for a quiet afternoon. At night bands and orchestras played while the people danced. If we didn't wish to dance, we went to the moving pictures. This de- lightful life lasted for two weeks and then ended as abruptly as it started. After we landed. we had a new glorious adventure ahead of us-that of Ending a home in this great country. -Soma Sotooxr. SB. The Lament of a French Student I am a French student. That is unquestionably sure, But I will admit I am unreasonably poor. Algebra is easy, , English isn't hard, But French is arduous, I got F on my card. I like the teacher, and I like her pleasant room, But to go there now, Alasl It is my doom. I am going to fail. Thar is unmistakably true. They won't let me quit. So what shall I do? The Romance of a Pewter Cup What could have a more interesting history than an old relic? This kit or cup is not a beauti- ful piece of workmanship for it has been battered around for so many years that it has almost lost its shape. It is now a dark green in color, but the romance. cheer and sorrow that is woven around it makes up for it. In its better days it belonged to Dick Ritchie of Dublin, Ireland. I-le fought in one of the most important wars of Ireland. It was here he was given the name of Dublin Dick. After he had won for himself many honors he returned home to hnd his home desolated and his wife and children dead. The sorrow and grief could not overcome completely a man of his strong will power. In the eighteenth century he sent all of their pewter dishware and the Irish laces over to his sister to be handed down. It has been through floods and fire but always miraculously escaped until a half century ago it fell through a crack in a prairie schooner and it was run over by the rear wheel. It is now discolored. scarred and almost ruined and yet it is one of my most prized treasures. It will be given to the South Bend Historical Society in a few weeks and it will be with regret that I part with it. -EDNA OLMSTEAD. A Dream of Dreams Of all the wonderful things that King Wfintcr offers to us, my choice is, to take a long walk at night in a big snowstorm just before Christmas time. It is so very easy to imagine yourself as Scrooge. drifting along, hanging to the Christmas Spirit's robe, peeping into the homes. while the soft lazy snow is drifting down, keeping you wrapped in 1 blanket of elve's weaving. A gay but subdued Ice Nlaid is weaving a spell around you, isolating your mind from the petty worries of evervdav life, just to give you a glimpse of the mysteries and delights of the life of the Christmas folk. Your feet are made of stardust and your heart is crying for the joys of this life. All too soon you arrive at your destination. The spell is broken. You are again human, but thankful for that dream of dreams. -ANONYBIOUS. IfForty-ninel

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THE JUNIOR CLASSIC Bly Trip to the Moon Ouchl gee, but it's cold. What's that bright light? Gallopin' Galoshesl it's a molehill increased to the size of a mountain, with silver snow on it and a light-house on top. Wiish I had brought along a couple hundred coats-cold enough to freeze your tonsils. Thereis an ice-box with some Eskimo pies. Wlant one? Everything is dotted with silver snow. I-Iere comes a bunch of clouds. I'm gonna hop a ride. Vkfhizl pst, s-s-s. 'X.Yf'hew, but we're goin' some. Oh! A dilferent land. Babbling brooks, silver, green trees, pretty forget-me-nots, and butter- cups. The stars twinkle and shine so bright I can hardly see. Therels a tree with silver tinsils on every branch. There, I caught one. On the end is a frozen sucker. VCIhat's that below us? I am going to see. Vifowl I'm rolling oii. Down I go. Down- down-down and I landed. Time to get upl '1Huh?,' 97 I said it's time for a lazv girl like you to get up. And Mother carne to the door. Wfhere was I? Why', i.n my own pretty bed-room. Later. as I sat down to breakfast I told Mother about it. She said. There I told you, you shouldnlt have eaten all of those nuts last night. '-JOSEPHINE CR.-uc. The Autobiography of a Newspaper Nlyf what is this black SEMI? theyre putting on me? it must be print. These rollers sure are hot. Ouchl rhey're folding me up and packing me in with a lot of other newspapers. they're giving us to a boy who stufs us into a big sack. I-Iurrahl we're going outdoors. Now Ouchl Now we're going for a ride on his bicycle. that mean boy threw me on a porch with all his might. Now a lady picks me up and unfolds me. She's reading me. I like to give people knowledge. Now the children are reading me. Oh! these bad children have torn me in two. what a dark place this isl It must be the cellar. lfi'ell. good-bye. I am going into the furnace. -KENNETH BLJRRELL. Our Dogs These were the things that were bothering the small town of Brookside. These were, well, dogs, not good. not bad, but you know, just dogs. A small lad, say of twelve, came running in one day to his father. Say, dad, you know it's a queer thing. First, Tom I-Iopkin's ractoon dog disappeared down bv the old brook. and now 'xactly three weeks from that day Sam Landers' old mutt has disappeared. You know, Pop, neither of those dogs was worth the trouble of stealing 'ern, and no one can ind one trace of eitherf, W'ell, son, it is queer, replied his father, ubut then, I suppose they just plumb run away. No, siree, Dad, them dogs was the faithfullest I seen yit. Illl bet somethings happened. Sorne- thing unusual, sorta, ,lim declared emphatically. Y.Vell, anyway, lim goin' to rind out. Now it happened that Jim had two dogs, one, Scot. a fine Collie. and the other, Bruce. a setter. The next morning before sir, was up and gone. Nor bothering to eat, he grabbed a small apple before he left. YXf'ith his trusty old gun and two dogs he was oi. down the hill and around the old stream, whistling a tune and thinking how proud he would be if he should be the one to lind the mysterious caller,', as it was called. Scot came panting to his rnaster's side, his leg torn and bleeding. -lim bandaged him up a.s skillfully as possible, and then started down the steep hill they had encountered. Then a low shrill call came. started. turned around. and found Bruce gone. I-ie then knew the :log had gone on ahead and discovered a fresh track. whistled. but with no response. I-le then ordered Scot after him. Scot followed the trail up the hill, down the lane, across the forest and :hrough the thickest briar patch in the country. After following for a mile and a half, Bruce stopped abruptly at the edge of the pool that had a natural slate bottom. Presently caught up. So this was the place where the o'her :logs had last been seen? XY-'ell, he was here. so he was going to find what brought him so far. The pool was but knee high so he waded around it. across, back. around again and then across. No Bruce. Scot knew the trail ended at the waters :dgeg so he was not eager to start as he was before. Jim, discouraged and tired. sat down beside the dog and asked. Scot, old boy. Bruce is gone, but who is our mysterious caller?', -Maaoasrra MCDAMEL. Iflfiftyl 1 A -2, -Q ,s Y .5 'F-3 3 . 352' 2 ez' Si. ii-3 74 f if, 'Q La i-3' ' .A 5 9 -fs 1' 4 3 in 1