Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

Page 9 text:

“GEE.” E were sitting quietly in the parlor, I)ad reading a news- paper, and all the feminine members of the family, except myself, sewing. I ignored their old-maidish occupation, and had become deep in Dante’s “Inferno ”. Suddenly, Dante saw a terrible punishment in purgatory, and, nat- urally, I saw it too. It was horrible, and the only word in my vo- cabulary expressive enough, and short enough, was “(reel” So “Gee” came; and it came strongly, surely, wonderingly, almost admiringly. “Gee!” What kind of English do you call that?” It was Dad. He didn’t understand, because when he read “Inferno” he had been discreet enough to say only “Humph.” Then “Yes, it’s about time you stopped saying that.” It was my oldest sister, who never had imagination enough even to enjoy Dante, much less ejaculate over him. Also, “S’pose your teacher had heard you say that?” It was my other sister. If I had had a larger family, I swear I’d have had a re- mark from each one. It was abominable. “Gee”—that’s the most dreaded word I know. Oh! no, there is no special charm, no awful meaning, but just the thought that every time I say it (and that’s very often) I have violated the laws of de- cent ( English. ‘‘Gee”—that’s the word that has brought me more trouble than any other. Saying it has brought humiliation upon this humble brow. Saying it has caused my esteemed English teacher to require this composition of me. The worst of it is this—it slips. That’s why it is so bad. I won’t be thinking of anything but the wonder of electricity, (or something of that sort) when suddenly the great glory of the invention strikes me with full force. An admiring, wondering “Gee” ensues. When I real- ize what I have said, I wonder with disgust why I have tried to break mvself of the “Gee” habit, and when I make the slip, an angry, almost indignant “Gee” resounds, as it seems, throughout all creation. It is extremely unfortunate to be a slave to slang or bad English. I have confided to all my friends the plan that I have made to rid my- self of the habit. When I say “Gee” I will follow it with h, i, j, k, 1, m, n, etc. But even that doesn’t help, because in every instance, so far, my memory has failed me. Won’t someone help me, someone with an inventive brain? I will publish my need thus—“Wanted—a plan to rid me of the “Gee” habit. Kindly do not make the plan too elaborate, for the one visited by this demon is very forgetful.” MARIE MEYER, Senior 4-1. seven

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Still another point which we should appreciate is their interesting and wide-influencing personalities. An entirely different atmosphere hovers around each teacher,—the result of his own individuality. Each brings to us, apart from our required lessons, thoughts and feelings that are the basis of similar thoughts and feelings in us, thus opening many doors of the mind that had hitherto remained locked. But by far the most admirable thing to be appreciated in our teachers is the attitude they take toward the students. Figuratively speaking, they have removed the platform from under their desk and chair. They have discarded all sternness and have replaced it with cheerful smiles. Instead of being our austere pedagogues, they are cur teacher-friends,—as much outside of school as in school. At the social activities of the school they are our companions, enjoying them- selves with us. Then here’s to the appreciation of our teachers for all they have done for us and the students before us, and for what they will do in the future for those students who have not yet entered the high school! May they know that their efforts are not wasted ; rather, they are bearing fruit day by day. May we, the students, fully appreciate all that our teachers are, and all that they do. E. E. E. RESULTS FROM THE Al). CONTEST. The members of “The Reflector” staff wish to thank all the classes and the Athletic Association for their support in the Ad. Contest. Due to their efforts the June issue of “The Reflector” is an assured success. The results obtained from the ad. contest are as follows: Fresh- men 1-2, $25; Sophomore 2-2, $23; Junior 3-1, $19; Senior 4-2, $14; Freshmen 1-1, $1 ; Five Dollar ad. from each class, $40; Athletic Asso- ciation, $5; Total, $127

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THE CALL OF HOME. 1 I FR the terrible struggle for Humanity was over, and our Sammies returned trimphantly, they brought with them scores of interesting tales, wierd, humorous, heart-rending. Some told of conquests, some of captures, of dangers, sick- ness and death; but they all brought some story of mercy, of love, and thankful deliverance. A pathetic incident was recently re- lated to me by a nurse who had just returned from the battle front- It occurred in a small charity hospital in Belgium. Moaning and tossing on his bed of pain lay the battered remnants of what was once a gallant officer. Faithful to his duties, he had been placed in a most dangerous situation, and the guns of the Boches had hewn him down, leaving him to starvation or death,—on Flander’s fields. When help came he was beyond the aid of human hands, but they brought him to breathe his last in this dingy medical ward. And there he raved in a state of unconsciousness, half his breast torn away, a leg gone, and his arms so maimed, it were a shame to call them parts of a human body. Yet his face was clear and unmarred, with only a blank look of terrible suffering and agony written over it. 1 he end was near. His breath came in gasps, his eyes rolled wildly, and inarticulate expressions were uttered. He could give no last message to any loved ones at home; he was’nt aware that he was dying; he knew nothing. Alas! Only another hero to add to the list of “unidentified.” Suddenly, out of the roaring of shot and shell, sweetly over the booming of the cannons, came a whistled refrain, and as the notes trilled on the clear evening air, the world seemed hushed to hear the old, old tune. The whistler passed beneath the window where the suffering soldier lay, and paused in his march. Then clearly and sweet as an angels’ serenade, he sang “Break the news to Mother— Tell her not to wait for me. For I’m not coming home.” The notes came fainter and fainter as he walked away, but in the ward they had worked’a miracle. The sufferer regained consciousness, the strength of the dying came over him, and folding his poor crippled hands, he murmured a faint prayer. An infinite calm spread around him; a smile lingered on his lips, transforming his face of pain to one of glory, and with a weak sigh, the attentive nurse caught the words— “----And forgive us our trepasses—as—Mother—forgives.” I. M. CANTIUS. eight