Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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. E ROAD OF DREAMS I have often heard of the road of There are castles on the road of dreams, dreams. There are mansions on the way; I have heard of its shining glories. They shine like dold in fhe lights I have often heard of the light that gleams, bright beams. And its many enchanting stories. Visions that fade away. Thesinger sings JlbTroad of dreams. There are many that travel theroad The writer writes of its lore. Theyfollow the lights bright ray 5'! The poet praises its golden beams Ihert are many who fell on the road of dreams., The lights that I ight its shores. for jfs beckoning may waylay. So I may travel the road of dreams. Its baffling lights explore. And I may reach its dazzling heights Where I’ve longed to be before. Ellen Phillips, June 30.

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T H E R E F LECTOR C L I F T 0 N HIGH S C H O O L FEBRUARY 1927 In his stately hall we find Responsibility sit- ting on his magnificent throne, surrounded by the statues of his late friends. Beside him we see the Experienced Man and the High School Student. As the Experienced Man is introduc- ing the High School Student to Responsibility, the statues begin to speak. “When you have difficulties,” says the first, “meet them, greet them and beat them.” “Success comes in Can’s,” says the second, “failure in Can’ts.” The third follows, “Remember it takes one hundred years to grow an oak; for a squash six months are sufficient.” And as the student begins to realize, the Ex- perienced Man and Responsibility exchange a knowing look, while the fourth speaker speaks in a hopeful voice, “Give to the world the best that you have, and the best will come back to you.” Betty C. Lamberson, Feb. ’27. RECOMPENSK Dedicated to M. D. G. A gold nugget Is not beautiful, But we take it With its dirt and dross, For the sake Of the precious bits of gold It contains. Life, real life, Is not easy or pleasant, And seldom beautiful; But we live it— And love it, For the golden moments Of rest and joy and beauty It contains. “Spectator.” A GIRL WE KNOW She lost them all, all those whom she held dear. And now she walks the road of Life alone, Unfaltering, unafraid. A child, half-grown— And yet we’ve never seen her shed a tear. We’ve never heard her voice a childish fear. We’ve never even heard her softly moan In loneliness for those whose love she’s known She radiates courageousness and cheer. But sometimes we can catch within her eyes A fleeting glimpse of longing wistfulness. As if she lived with memories for a while; And with these memories come soft, sad sighs- But not for long. She hastens to suppress Them, and her grief she hides behind a smile “Cyrano.” “THE OLI) GRAY CAT” The old gray cat lay by the fire And stared at the leaping flames. (Ease alone was the cat’s desire And is there one who blames?) His mind went back through his twenty years. (Quite long for a cat to live). He thought of his struggles, his loves, his fears. With the calm only age can give. And he knew, this gray old cat by the fire. His days would be very few— This he was told by his old gray sire, As I tell it now to you. “The lives of a cat, my son, are nine. And the first three go in a day. Before lie learns to read the sign Of “Danger,” and keep away. The next three lives are lost within The fiery years of youth; For some they are years of feline sin. For others a fight for truth. .lust three are left. The cat by now Has learned to tread with care Its daily paths; it knows well how To side-step danger’s flare. But life is hard, and accident Of the three takes one away; The other life is lost or spent— But how, I cannot say. And one remains; the last of all, ’Tis very short but sweet— Through eight hard lives you’ve known the gall. The bitter strife of the street; The ninth you spend (it may but last A week, a day, an hour) In vague, dim dreams of days long past, The days when your youth was in flower. The bitter days your thoughts ignore, Remembrance casts them by— You think and dream of the joys of yore; And then, my son, you die.” And the old gray cat went dreaming on Till the fire-light ceased to shine; M hen the last spark died, he too was gone The count of lives was “nine!” PAGE EIGHT “A Dreamer.”

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T H E R E F I. E (TOR C L I F TON HIGH S C II O O I. F E H R I! A R V 19 2 7 JAMBS P. O'CONNOR Scuffle, shuffle, scuffle ! James P. O’Connor, for no other reason in the world except that he had just been disowned by his father, was start- ing out to set the world on fire by his own ef- forts. Now to understand this great phenomenon, it is necessary to know James P. O’Connor. James had been raised by his bored father and an over- fond mother in a Lord Fauntleroy atmosphere— private tutors, curls, velvet trousers and all that sort of thing. James, it must be said, had a fierce longing to be a regular fellow. This had its outcome when James was sent to Dartmouth, which had been his father’s college before him. James soon had a reputation as a social as- set and was the leader of all the social activities. It was James who set new styles, James who was chairman of the Junior Prom committee, James who became an enthusiastic Phi Sigma pledge. It was at the height of his career of success at college that Jimmie was chosen chair- man of the Junior Prom committee. He had gone stag and was condescendingly looking around to see that all was as it should be, when he saw Fat Lauder endeavoring to display his charms in the famous Banana Slide to the strains of Valencia. James watched sympathe- tically until he saw the face of the girl Fat was dancing with. It was tragic, and although it was against his principles, Jimmie tapped Fat on the shoulder and firmly but gently cut in. Soon he was tapped, the little incident was for- gotten. and the evening wore on to a successful close, from the social point of view. Jimmie’s college days came to a close, as all things surely must, and Jimmie set out for one good time before he went home to the old hum- drum. In the midst of all his preparations in pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness, a letter arrived from his unsympathetic father telling him of his forthcoming marriage with the daugh- ter of an old school chum of his, and the hope that he would consider his parent’s wishes and act accordingly. Jimmie wrote hack feelingly, and told them in none too gentle language that he would marry when and whom he chose. Forthwith he was disowned, which brings us to the immediate and uncertain present. By rea- son of his sudden and tremendous decision, Jimmie started out with hut twenty-five dollars, which is neither here nor there. Now we come to the girl that Jimmie said he would marry any one but. Nora Jean Delaney was a wild and flipping flapper who looked up- on the world as a “great old place,” and merrily anticipated adventure and romance. On the morning of her nineteenth birthday, hearing of her prearranged marriage with an unknown stranger of whom she had heard a great deal when in college, she smelt adventure, registered dismay, accepted as a peace offering a little Wills St. Claire roadster, and soon was off on the scent of adventure without so much as an extra lire. Therefore it was quite permissible when the frolicking autumn breeze caught up the words that had drifted out when a tack had thoughtlessly driven itself through the front tire, that it brought them to the ears of a dirty truck driver whom we know as James P. O’Con- nor, now known to the business world as Mike Malone. Upon hearing them he smiled, but hav- ing retained his chivalry, he was soon fixing Nora’s tire. This accomplished, he set out on his way with a belated order for Messrs. Swan Down. It was inevitable that Jimmie should think it a joke to obtain a position in his father’s em- ploy and then, having raised himself through the world via his father’s trucking business, to appear before his father and show him that he. James P. O’Connor, could earn his own liveli- hood. In order to make detection more impos- sible he changed his name to Mike Malone. Jimmie’s father, it must be said, was the J. P. O’Connor ol 25 years ago. whose eccentrici- ties were widely discussed. Jim’s father had made his fortune over night, as it were, but could not bring himself to give up the business which he had been horn and raised in. Before he became known as the James P. O’Connor of the social world he was merely Johnnie O’Con- nor, who owned several trucks and a horse. But Nora, women are such queer creatures, had fallen in love, and by grace of her Irish parents had set out in chase of her man. In the course of her self imposed task of trailing Mike Malone she became aware of the fact that Mike lunched in the Greasy Vest and resided at 159 Palm Street. Nora then retired to figure out a means of attack. Ideas came flowing in, hut most of them were discarded; finally she de- cided on a course and within the next hour the Greasy Vest had a new waitress, and 165 Palm Street a new hoarder. Jimmy came in for lunch the next day and of course Nora made it a point to wait upon him. He was struck by a faint resemblance which he soon scorned as impractical. Jimmy was hu- man. and if a pretty girl went out of her way to please him, of course Jimmie noticed, and didn’t raise anv strenuous objections. Soon Jimmie was dining nightly at the Greasy Vest, and in the course of time was accompanying Nora, now Jean Patton, to the movies once a week. They both remarked how coincidental it was that, out of the whole city of New York, they both happened to live within a few doors of each other. I AGE TEN