Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR l..1 .....l.-l- - 1l- admiration. Manager Mike Howland muttered, Now you take them sport shirts--. Aw, lay ofI'n the kid, drawled Jones. Let him wear what he-all wants to. Well, as I was saying, continued Mike, yesterday as I passed the store I noticed a couple of nice plaid ones, and I was thinking that if you would snap out of it and begin winning some ball games, I would give you each a couple as a bonus. Boy, will I be doing my darndest to get one of those shirts, said Tony Rondetti. I got my eye on a yellow and blue down at I-Iorner's-I'd even lay me down a hunt to get one of those. 'vs f i y ' F- X si' if fm ' ,f y C9 U I 1 l , y illliki 5' iq A, ia H 31 l9 A Boy and a Girl By Margaret Schmitt, june '36 The hrst time I saw them was about ten years ago. The girl has golden curls, tumbling over her shoulders from under the rippling brim of her sun hat. She is dressed in pale colors, with an armful of wheat held in the folds of her green skirt. In the other hand, she holds a small scythe. She is looking across a wide expanse to her mate, the blond young man. His gray eyes meet her blue ones steadily while he stands poised amid green grasses and coral rocks. He carries his wheat in a great bundle over his shoulder, while by his left side leans his staff. No one will ever know the secrets hidden behind his blond strength and her petite grace, for they are a pair ol pretty, little, china statuettes dressed in peasant costume. They chose our mantel as their stand a long time ago, and they have kept it ever since. 27

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PHE REFLECTOR Tommy decided to have it out with Purdy immediately after the end of the game, and then give them a dose of their own medicine the following day. As the players trooped into the locker room, they were joyfully chatting over tl1e number of hits that they had made, when Tommy interrupted them. He stepped in front of Purdy and exclaimed, What do you mean by throw- ing that ball as if you were pitching. Trying to make me look bad, eh? l'urdy's massive form started to shake, and he said, Look what's asking for a fight-little half pint. VVhy, with one finger I--. Before he had finished his sentence, Tommy had grabbed him by his arm and left leg and began slowly to twist Purdy into odd shapes. Not for nothing had he been college wrestling champion. He then slammed a half Nelson on Purdy, and, after a few minutes, Purdy dropped limply to the floor, his face fiushed with embarrassment. None of the other Wildcats looked will- ing to take up where Purdy had left off, so Tommy left the Club House, feel- ing lots better after his little work-out. Manager Mike Randolph whistled to himself: If it weren't for them danged sport shirts, well--. The next day, in the second game of the series, they were leading by two runs, when Tommy decided to give the VVildcats a dose of their own medicine. As he fielded a sharp bounder, he immediately cut loose with a scorching throw to second base, where Purdy should have been. However, he had loafed, expecting Tommy to dash over himself to make the putout. Therefore the ball Iiew into the left field boxes, and two runs crossed the plate, tying the score. It did not go unnoticed that Purdy had been at fault, and he was in for a great deal of razzing from the bleacher fans for the duration of the game. In the seventh inning Tommy proceeded to put the Wildcats ahead with a ringing double over third base, driving in Zeke Hupfel, who was on second. VVith two out in the ninth, the last batter-up for the Jackrabbits hit a ball slightly out of the first baseman's reach, and as he scrambled for it, Tommy ran to cover first. Alabama Jones, the first baseman, deliberately threw it low, trying to make Tommy look bad. Tommy, however, stabbed out his hand for the ball just as the runners' spikes tore into his hand, gouging it in several places. But the putout had been made, and the Wildcats had Hnally won a series from a team. Tommy was lying on the rubbing table, having his badly injured hand sterilized and bandaged, when the players trooped in. Alabama Jones edged up to the table and asked the Doc how Tommy was, and when informed that the injury was somewhat serious, he began to fumble with his glove and grin sheepishly. After much deliberation he finally spluttered his apologies to Tommy for having made such a deliberately bum throw, and then turned to the rest of the team and said: If you-all don't think this heah boy am O. K., you-all can come and see me and I'll attend to you-all. Zeke Hupfel nodded his approval and said, All right by me. He wrecked his hand to save the game, and it does feel mighty good to win once again. So my vote goes for him too. The rest of the team all chimed in with Alabama and Zeke, and Tommy grinned at them, feeling glad that he had won their 26

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THE REFLECTOR 1- i - Theatre Menaces By Tunis De Yager, june, 1936 Were this a melodrama, it would tell of the country miss who became ensnared in the city while attempting fame on the stage. But, as you shall see, I merely wish to enumerate my own selfish grievances against this most popular of entertainments. It is unnecessary to mention the child in arms Who bursts out crying at the climax of the play. He is a world-wide menace. These are my own personal grievances. The first is the unbearable who drapes his collar-bones on the back of my seat and obligingly breathes with violence in my ear. He does this only when I am sitting upright. When I slump, he inserts his chin into my shoulder. The next is the cute little squirmy rascal who can't make up his mind whether he should stand in my line of vision or sit in his mother's lap with his feet pressed firmly in my ribs. I believe this fellow's little cousin is the one who eats the soft chocolate behind me. His mother, with malicious delight, draws out a candy bar. She unwraps half of it. It is wrapped, of course, in a crackly paper that barely drowns out the speaker's voice. The other half is to keep the child's fingers from becoming sticky. This is a poor excuse. She knows he'll grab the melt- ing chocolate. The child, young as he is, slyly waits until I drop my guard. Slumped though I may be, I am intent on the picture. He senses that the time has arrived, and, without further ado, he grasps my ear. Among the minor offenders, there is the boy to my left who wheezes, or perhaps whistles through his nose. He also occupies the entire arm of the seat. The incessant cougher or the loud nose-blower are the least offensive, in my opinion. I know that no one but myself has ever had any of these tryingexperiences, so I shall henceforth suffer in silence. My sole reason for writing this is to ease my own suffering by confiding it to another. The Village Crony By Margaret Schmitt, june '36 As slow of motion as a snail, He wanders down to the village store. The assembled philosophers resent his coming. Under his scraggly gray mustache He sucks a time-stained pipe, And puffs blue smoke away into nothingness, Between times, gossipping with every one who willg Or he debates the government's latest knowingly, Or else he just sits on an old barrel And watches every slightest detail With a truculent eye. 28