Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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V. The snow was swirling down harder now, and made with the dying grass a slippery covering for the now-frozen turf. The Lincoln quarterback called signals and there was the sudden, hysterical clash with its drumming of feet and dull thuds of bodies against bodies. Bop Starrett hit off guard for no gain, heads down and legs driving, his body almost parallel with the ground. It had been the same way all afternoon, Buck Serrini didnit seem to be able to open that hole over there. But on that play the Woodcliff right guard made his big mistake. In order to make the tackle he deliberately stepped on Buck's hand. Something happened to Buck as the cleats ground in. He came out of the pile with his hand bloody and the flesh torn, but only shook his head in answer to the captain's inquiry and said very quietly, Skip it! In the huddle he broke the silence rule. Try that play again, joe. The quarterback was desperate and had decided to buck XX-'oodcliff's strong arial defense again, but one look at Serrini's eyes was enough. All right, in tackle left, three play. Let's go! Starrett shifted into the fullback position. The ball was snapped. His legs drove like pistons and he braced himself for the shock as he hit the forward wall. But there was no shock! He charged through a hole you could have driven a wagon through and was stopped five yards further on by a XVoodcliff secondary. On the next play they carried the Wfoodcliff right guard off the field. li ' But Buck's anger was not appeased, and Lincoln gained consistantly through their left forward wall until the Wfoodcliff secondary came up. Then they passed. It was a long forward and Terry Ackerman pulled it down out of the blue. Then he ran. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty yards down field, then- smack! The Wfoodcliff safety man hit him in a tackle which carried them both over the sideline stripe. Terry got to his feet and laughed outright. He had done it! He had beaten Old Man Jinx and something deep inside told him that he would never again know that chilling fear. He played to the end of the game like a man possessed, and somewhere in the stands Dave Ransdale, sports writer extraordinary, pulled a little slip of paper from his pocket. At the top was printed, H1934 All-State Eleven. He crossed out a name opposite Left End and wrote in Terry Ackerman . VI. There were two minutes left to play and Lincoln was freezing the ball on their own twenty-five yard stripe. There was no chance to resurrect the game now and Lincoln's only chance to keep the score down was to hold the ball. On the sidelines Coach Wilson felt Little johnny's eyes boring into him. The appeal was too great to resist. He looked over at the boy and said, just a little wearily, All right, johnson. Go on in. johnny was off the bench like a shot out of a gun. He raced onto the lield as though his life depended upon it. Three years was a long time to wait

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The squad was seated on the unpainted benches or against the wall, their faces expressionless and with that ungodly gone feeling in the pits of their stomachs which every football man knows. Student managers moved quietly among them, wide rolls of tape in their hands. Little johnny johnson pulled at the elastic strap on his helmet. He was praying silently for a chance to get into this game. He had, by some Act of Providence, gotten into three games this season and a fourth meant a letter. He stared unseeingly at his toes. Terry Ackerman's hands trembled ever so slightly as he pulled the laces of his shoes even tighter. Buck Serrini sat a little apart from the others and chewed leisurely on an enormous wad of gum. A white-garbed official stuck his head in the door and said in a voice that sounded oddly loud in the quiet room. Three minutes, Coach. Wilson moved slowly away from the wall and into the center of the room. All movement ceased. He achieved a calm voice. No pep talk today, boys. Only--that bunch in the stands have stuck even after all these beatings. For their sake, give everything you've got, gang! That's all. All right, now get out there! The three Lincoln teams took the field, their cleats spewing little pieces of sod, and their ears virtually deaf to the roaring stands. Fifteen minutes later, with both bands blaring and the stands on their feet, a whistle sounded faintly through the great concrete stadium. Suddenly a little leather ovoid was in the air and the green, white-slashed gridiron was covered with milling, squirming, rocketing bodies. IV. They were back in the dressing room between the halves and the air was filled with the stench of rub-down fluid and steaming bodies. Coach Wilson again stood in their midst. He pushed his felt hat onto the back of his head. He addressed them in a voice none too gentle. Get your chins up, you bunch of punks! All right, they have you 6-0! So what? According to the papers it should be 60-0 by this time. You can still win this ball game! You, Serrini! What do you think this is? A ping-pong tournament? Get in there and fight!-Ackerman! What are you, anyway, a football player or a white-livered sissy? What are you trying to do, save yourself for the Prom? Get the lead out of your feet and stop playing Tiddledy-Winks!-Starrett! Don't you think it's about time you decided to start playing footlmll? Hit that line with your head down! You've been standing up in there.-Smitty!- Little Johnny listened absently to the drone of Wilson's voice. Why didn't Coach put him in place of Serrini? He'd show him some fight! He had to get into this game, somehow! Wilson was still talking. All right, now, you sissies, go on out there and try to look a little more like a football team! Go out there and FIGHT! Do you hear? Y0u'1fe got to will flair game! FIGHT, DAMMIT, FIGHT! The REFLECTOR --l 19

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but he had made his letter at last. He sprinted on so fast that his momentum carried him right on past the umpire. He stood before the official like a man in a dream, and almost shouted that beautiful phrase: johnson for Serrinilu As Buck trotted off the field, he looked at the tense faces of the squad on the bench and shook his head wonderingly. And while the substitutes were praying for a chance to get into this game before it was over, he was hoping fervently that he would not be forced to play football in college. For Buck, you see, still hated the game. The gun went for the end of the game and another victory for Wood- cliff. jeff Miller moved out of the stands with the exuberant crowd, and chuckled softly as he thought of the one hundred crisp, new, dollar bills which were waiting for him in the pocket of Old Man Bartlett. He was still laughing as he said to himself, I know somebody who's agoin' to be awful mad when they finds out I bet their money on Woodcliff, but they'll get over it, 'cause sometimes if'n a pusson ain't got enuff sense to take care of themselves you jist gotta use your own jedgementlu .- ,i- Puppy lLove B y fuck H u gher A Play in three acts. Characters: Bob Page, a senior. Phil Graham, his friend, another senior. Kay, Phil's sister, a junior. Peggy Nixon, a pretty newcomer. to Newton. ACT I. Scene: Corridor of a high school. Bob and Phil talking on the first day of school. Phil: Say, did you see that new girl in English class? Bob: I'll say. Gee, she's a peach. What's her name? I listened hard enough, but I couldn't catch it. Phil: It's Peggy, I think. She's sure nice looking. I'd like to take her out. Bob: Not if I get there first. I'll ask Kay if she knows her and man- age an introduction. Phil: I'll see what I can do along the same lines. By the way, where'll you take her if she accepts the date? Bob: I've a bid for that De Molay dance in Passaic Saturday night. I'll ask her there. Phil: I'm going, too, but I haven't found anyone to drag yet. I think I'll beat your time. The REFLECTOR 21