Cleveland High School - Legend Yearbook (Portland, OR)

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What a Piece of Paper Can Do LORENE SaLTUS XT WAS all decided. Clifford and Frank were to play at the pie social. This pie social, held in the little country schoolhouse, w ' as an annual event. All the pupils took part in the program, which came before the auction of the pies. The most talented pupils were put first, because, after an hour ' s program, the audience got rather tired of straining their necks and ears trying to see and hear some of the bashful ones. Clifford and Frank fondly imagined that this was why they were put first, but Annie Hogan said that she heard the teacher say that if she put them last, she was sure that somebody would shower them with the last of the garden vegetables. The night came, bringing inky darkness with it. What a black night! exclaimed Frank, as he was milking the last cow. Yes, and we have to go by that graveyard, too, replied Clifford. Oh, who ' s afraid of ghosts? There is no such thing. Fm not afraid. Hurry up and milk that cow or we ' ll be late. Clifford said no more, because he didn ' t want his older brother to know that he was afraid. One-half hour later, as they were nearing the graveyard, Clifford said, Say, I don ' t believe I could run five steps with this heavy saxophone. Who ' s talking about running? sneeringly replied Frank, while Clifford indifferently loosened his saxophone and carried it under his arm. The tombstones shone bright in the darkness. All was still except a continual squeak- ing sound. What ' s that? whispered Clifford. At that very moment, not fifteen feet behind them, arose a white something. After rattling its bones, it flew on and clattered right into Mr. Simmons ' grave. Clifford dropped his saxophone and took to his heels, not waiting to see what became of the ghost or of his brother. Frank also started to run ; but in his flight, stubbed his toe and fell face downward into the ditch, where he lay quite still, fearing, if he moved, the ghost would see him. He thought he felt its cold hands on him once; and then he imagined that it either thought he was dead or had gone on after his brother, or that, perhaps, he was really dead and soon would become a ghost himself. In less than ten minutes, Clifford was back with help, for he dared not come alone. After finding Frank all right, they proceeded to find the ghost. They had a flash- light, and on Mr. Simmons ' grave, its ghostly rays revealed a large roll of paper that had been picked up by the wind and partly unrolled. Everyone laughed but Frank and Clifford. They could not be persuaded so easily. After finding that a gate was the cause of the squeaking, they decided that it wasn ' t a ghost after all. Still tremb- ling, they resumed their interrupted journey to the social. On account of their lateness, the first number on the program was omitted. Annie Hogan thinks it was a good thing the ghost did scare them. I wonder why? Nevertheless, the bovs were able to eat two pies apiece, and the social was a success. Tnvfnly-one

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On Taking an Elevator Marjorie Panc;born CHE caption is misleading. I really didn ' t take an elevator any place. It didn ' t take me any place either. I trietl to take it, but it made no effort to take mc. iMy misadventure occurred upon the day that so many of our girls worked for a downtown department store. I went in search of a girl friend. The first floor revealed no clue. As an Al detective, I was a better defective. By subtle pussy- footing I found a girl who had seen her someplace sometime, but unfortunately my informer was at the present moment suffering from amnesia and couldn ' t remember why, where, nor when. Bravely I mounted the first flight of stairs. The second required a little more display of my best upgrade effort. Be careful, my new shoes cried. I was. By the time I had reached the sixth floor, I was walking on one-fourth of my foot, or approximately the area covered by an ant in its lifetime of journeying. Every girl but the right one was in sight. As a committee of one, I decided that I would explore no further. My next conscious move was for the elevator. A little red light blazed over the door. I stood by pati entlv concentrating on its likeness to a danger signal. After seeing the mob that vainly tried to condense itself within the 2x4 space, I concluded that the elevator was for the exclusive use of the persons willing to take a chance. Another little red light glowed invitingly. I summoned foot power. The elevator stopped, but not for me. After the process of elimination had been gone through, I was still optimistically awaiting a car. I gave several encores of my home runs for the benefit of the operators of the cars. I either missed them entirely or I was weeded out as an undesirable. I must have looked under age or capable of walking down those six flights of hard, marble steps. Finally mv English brain comprehended the situation. I made a momentous decision. I would walk ! The fact that I had to was generously overlooked. I started down with a light heart and with heavy feet. I reached the fifth floor. A practically empty car whizzed down the shaft. I descended the rest of the distance without the use of crutches. Once I had gained a Pep Co. limousine, a kindly conductor told me that my transfer had expired long ago. Reverently I laid its last remains in an inner pocket to await the coming of her who collects transfers. The streetcar company received cash that memorable day. P. S. The next time I go to a crowded store, I don ' t — unless I take a temporary elevator which folds away when not in use. My Mother Louise Schneider Down in the meadows are cowslips ; Up in the sky are stars. And out on the blue are little ships That weave a web with their spars. Up on a hill are violets With gleaming crowns of dew, But here at home are the things I love And here in my heart is you. Ticfnty

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The Mystery Hi:l ' 1,aii Hacki.i:v XT WAS Tliursday afternoon, art (la ' . Hurriedly I drew out my water colors. All week 1 had heen planiiint; the scenery I would paint, and all week 1 had gone througii magazines, books, and papers in quest of ideas to suit my fancy. Taking a little from each and every picture, 1 finally had it all arranged in my mind. After a struggle I succeeded in making what 1 called a lake fit for a perfect, romantic picture. I then started in on a tree, but lo and behold, my young and stately poplar turned out to be a somber hemlock. Thoroughly disgusted, I erased it. I then en- gaged in deep thought. Couldn ' t 1 draw a tree that didn ' t look so dry that it might start a forest fire? I hit upon a plan. I didn ' t know the name of the tree, but I knew 1 had seen it somewhere. It had a slender trutik with long, lanky branches hanging to the ground. Fairly well pleased with my tree, 1 began on some stumps which I placed wherever it looked bare. While giving it some extra touches, 1 saw the teacher coming down the aisle. Looking at it from in front of me, she said, Don ' t you think the ground is rather bare? I looked it over, and, to please her, I put in a few white lily pads. The girl beside me grabbed it, looked it over, and tossed it back upon my desk. It lit upside down. I glanced at it, and in doing so, I beheld a slightly clouded sky and a fountain with a small uneven path around it. And yes, the ground was rather bare. Disgusted, I held it limply between m fingers. It tipped a little to one side. I gasped, for now I had a picture of a wind storm, with my tree and stumps fairly knocked over, and white foam on my quiet, romantic lake. I was shortly aroused by the teacher ' s Time to hand in your work. I scribbled down the title and handed my work in. But the teacher didn ' t seem to understand why I named it The Mystery . Poet ' s Song Berniece Hill Love flits by me like a song; I hear a far-off cry Of heartaches, dreams, and sorrows; I sob a poet ' s sigh. And mingle tears with bitter fears, Of sunshine days and song. Life drifts by me, just a song; I seek a fallen note Of life-time, lost in love and shadows, With darkness, still remote ; And gather joys with phantom toys. Of sunshine days and song. Ticenty-tivo