Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR The H omeworle Quesfion fFr011z az SfItdElZ1f,S Auglej T has been said that all work and no play makes jack a dull boy. As to the veracity of this statement, there is little doubt. Yet in the ' course of a high school career it seems as though the application of these wise words has been neglected. Teachers, it appears, are ignorant of this phrase. Each instructor thinks that the high school curriculum is composed of one subject, and that subject is his own. Accordingly, he assigns home- work to keep one busy for some time. Is it inconceivable, then, to imagine the discouragement that confronts a student after a day of seven periods? If teachers could only be human, how sweet would scholastic life then be? But, no! They readily and easily forget their attitudes as pupils. fFr011z a Tezzchefs Viewpoinlj Contrary to general opinion, a teacher's life is not easy, happy, and carefree. Instead it is a vocation where one must possess patience, tolera- tion, and understanding. Teachers are condemned as ucranks' and old fogeys. Yet they are only human. They cannot avoid assigning homework. They must, in order to fulfill state requirement. Then, too, the pupils rarely stop to consider how much a little co-operation can achieve. Perhaps if the class were more attentive, much more could be accomplished during the period, and then they would be rewarded with less homework. But as it is, the teacher must fight against odds. He must contend with the late strag- glers, he must tolerate the impolite and inattentive, and he must bear the cross of the backward element. Rather than discredit the teacher, the pupils should condemn themselves. A Club Room Where shall we meet this afternoon? UI don,t know. W'e need a piano to sing some of those French songs, but the Glee Club is using 202.,' This conversation is frequent. Organizations like the French, Spanish, German and Footlights Club are in dire need of a room in which the full beneits of the club may be enjoyed. A room with ample space for playing games, giving plays, and carry- ing on a meeting where there is a comparatively large audience, would afford excellent opportunity for sponsors to conduct club work without molestation and with success. Each organization might be assigned a definite time for the use of the room. This would also avoid conflicts in club meetings. The reward for this would be active club life. The students would be enticed to attend meetings that had suddenly become lively and in- teresting, and C. H. S. would have living organizations that would broad- cast their activities. as Eight

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THE REFLECTOR The Lonely Watch at Lonesome GEORGE EFFINGWELL, known to all the throttle-pullers S' on the Mountain Division as EfHe, was tower operator at Lonesome Y.', His shift, from six oiclock in the evening until three in the morning, when the sky was darkest, was T 'A U known throughout the division as uthe lonely watch at Lone- some. He had no one to talk to. It was four miles from the neat rows of houses that sheltered the population of Mesquiteg furthermore, the rail- road authorities did not permit Efhe to have visitors. He could not read, there was no time, and he must be on the job. He must keep an un- failing eye out for an occasional freight, now loaded with bleating cattle, or just a lifeless string of tanks, it made no difference-they all had to go through. And in order to go through they all had to pass lone- some Y.,' He always said a few Words to the man whom he relieved, but from then on it was utter silence until his relief appeared at three. Now and then he would hold silent communication with a passing trainman by a wave of the hand. It made no difference whether it was a long freight, Coughing and grunting up the slight grade to the mountain run, or a roaring express, shadowed by a long line of darkened Pullmansg all pass- ing trainmen would lean out of the cab to shake a friendly hand at Efhe as their trains sped by the tower. The whole division depended on Effie, and he knew it. Effie was proud of his job. The switchboard before him was always spotless. Even the low-hanging, green-shaded lights received a nightly dusting. His desk chair was his throne, and he was king of the mountain division. Effie had a quiet, true friend. This friend never spoke to him, but it served as his only comrade the whole night through. It was a friend whose expressionless face gazed at him hour after hour, and assured him that all was well on the mountain division. It was Effie's clock. It was a plain square mahogany box with a small, round, white face, and silver hands. He knew that when those small hands pointed to six- forty-five the long white beam of the Pacific Flyer would hurtle into view and disappear down the smooth rails into the twilight. At seven- thirty the hands told him that the Limited was on time on its race east- ward. And so on through the night. The mountain division depended upon Eflie, and Efhe depended upon his clock. That was why Effie had developed a peculiar affection for that clock. It was the talk of the mountain division. Whenever EfHe's name was mentioned on the line, a mention was always made of his clock. One summer night Efhe swung up the winding trail that was a short cut from town, over and across the maze of tracks at the Y, and stopped to rest at the foot of the tower to wipe his freely perspiring Ten