Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR Pals UC7O ELL, will you look at Bobby Lowell! Of all messy outfits i 0 J t° wear to a place like this! It’s about time that girl woke up to herself. I don’t think she cares a bit about her looks.” Bobby Lowell strode across the lawn, a sharp contrast to the other girls. A hard round of golf had certainly not improved her appearance. A tiny, boyish figure, black hair that just would curl around a pert, little face, and two merry blue eyes which just now were smiling at the world. Cute—yes—but her clothes! They were the despair of every lover of feminine frills. Mannish right from the sweater to stout oxfords, for if there were any two things Bobby hated they were curly hair and frilly dresses. Gee, it’s hot!” she ejaculated. Right!” said a voice behind her, and she swung around to see Tommy Searles, accompanied by a tall, blond young man in white flannels. Oh, hello, Tommy,” she said briskly. Want you to meet a friend of mine, Barry Wells,” said Tommy. This is Bobby Lowell, best golfer in the club.” Bobby stretched forth a grimy hand to clasp Barry’s brown one. Have a good game?” he asked in a pleasant voice. Swell,” and Bobby turned around to gulp down a tumbler of ginger ale. So-long,” banging down the glass; see you later,” and she made off for a snappy little roadster parked near the road, tossed her clubs into the seat, and drove off in a whirl of dust. Glo, Patty, Alice and Dotty had watched Bobby when she met Tommy and Barry. Goodness,” said Glo, you’d think she didn’t know who Barry Wells was, the way she ignored him.” Barry Wells, popular novelist, was the hit of the season. Most likely she doesn’t,” smiled Pat. She never read a novel in her life. She reads wild-west stories and jungle tales. Too odd for words!” What man could like her, I don’t know,” chimed in Dotty. There’s nothing girlish about her. She’s a good sport, but they say she hates girls. She never says much more than Hello” to any one of us, and she hasn’t one real girl friend.” I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her in anything dressy. She always wears sport clothes, and they look as though they’d been thrown on in about two minutes.” I wonder how she’d look in an evening dress,” mused Pat. I’ll bet she strides along as though she were in knickers! And high heels! I’ll bet she’s a scream.” Let’s try to get her to come to my house Saturday, when the crowd comes down. It’s to be semi-formal, you know. If we can get her to come, we’ll have the best laugh of our lives.” This from Dotty. Thirteen

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THE REFLECTOR The Soldier The battle won, And homage done, The soldier departed from strife. He was not known By folks at home, For the war had changed his life. His face was scarred, His features marred, One arm had been shot away. And the tales he told Were of men so bold Who had fought in many a fray. He told of a trip On a convoy ship Over the sea to France. He was sent to a camp Where he heard the tramp Of feet, as they advanced. Then came the fight On a terrible night When his face had been mangled and torn. He had lain on the ground Where he had been found By his men on the following morn. Then came the day When he went away— Away to the land of the free. Away from the strife Of a warrior’s life To his home across the sea. Joseph Hughes, June ’32. My Autumn The Autumn is the time for me To hunt the rabbit in the lea. With dog and gun I have my fun Until the sun sinks red. And then toward home I turn my head With spirits fine and high, For in my sack four bunnies lie All stiff and cold, Still wet from faithful Buster’s hold. And when among the orange leaves The foxy partridge quickly flees, I like to watch old Buster poise As if to say, Get ready, boys.” And when yon partridge makes his dash The woods resound the fatal crash, And down to leafy ground he falls No more to see his forest halls, No more to see the purple sky, No more with mates of brown to fly. William Mende, June ’30. Twelve

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THE REFLECTOR The girls bent their heads over the table and chattered softly, and now and then a peal of laughter rang out. When they rose to go, amuse- ment was written on every face. They all looked forward to Saturday night. A roar of motor, grind of brakes in a cloud of dust, and the slam of a door. Bobby’s home,” announced her father, a grin on his face. I sometimes think that if you’d help me we could make a girl out of Bobby,” said Mrs. Lowell, but you only laugh at her.” She’ll get more out of life than Gloria Milford or any of that crowd,” persisted her father. Let her go her own way.” Mrs. Lowell just shook her head. No one to talk with-------,” carolled Bobby, underneath a cold shower. Marie, see if you can find my blue linen dress and my white oxfords. Just lay them on the bed, and then you can go.” Don’t go no- where; what do I care, your-----. Is that you, mother? There’s a new fellow at Tommy’s. Yes, I met him before I left. Seems all right. What! An author! Goodness, I acted as though I’d never heard of him. Well, I never did.” Bobby was now wriggling into the blue dress. She pulled stock- ings on, thrust her feet into white oxfords, grabbed a tennis racket and ran downstairs. Dad, want a game? Make it snappy. What? Mother wants me? I’ll be back in a second.” Bobby, stop singing for a minute and sit down here. I wish you’d give up all this mannish style and be a girl.” Oh, mother, please don’t start all that again. I can’t act that way—it’s not in me—and I don’t want to be a girl.” Well, there’s an invitation here from Dotty Haines to her dance Saturday. It’s semi-formal.” I don’t want to go.” Please, Bobby. Do me a favor and go. You’ll enjoy yourself. If you only knew what you’re missing. You could have so much fun with the young crowd------- Oh, all right, Mother, I’ll go, but I’ll most likely have an awful time.” If you try, Bobby, you can have a good time.” Yes, I’ll be the laugh of the party.” Ready, Bob,” said her father, poking his head in the door. Yes, sir! So-long, mother.” Hang it all,” said Bobby outside. Mother’s making me go to Dot Haines’ dance Saturday night. I hate to dance but----- Oh, let’s forget it and play tennis.” Fourteen