East High School - Quill Yearbook (Des Moines, IA)

Page 17 text:

Us AIQDUND THE FIIQESIDQE The Open Fire P i Open fires have always attracted me. As a child I would sit hour after hour staring into my grandmotl1er's lireplace. The red and laven- der Hames seemed to enchant me. As I watched them flicker and leap, I became unconscious of all else. I was in fairyland. Love, romance, and adventure appeared to me in this wonderland of color. I imagined myself in strange lands seeing queer sights, or I was on the high seas lighting with pirates. Instead of just being a small lad with a great imagination, I was, in this fairyland, a prince leading great forces to light for righteousness, a king governing broad pleasant lands, a poet, or an inventor. How pleasant it was to sit before the fireplace while Granny told stories and the wind whistled wildly through the lofty pines. Great dreams unfolded before me as I listened to Granny's words. I saw the struggle man had made to raise himself out of barbarism. I saw the rise and fall of beautiful cities and great nations. The brightly colored pages of history's enormous book opened before my eyes as I gazed at the fire. People called me a dreamer, but I am sure they could not seed what I saw, as the flames of red, orange, blue, and green danced and llickered before my eyes. MARY GOLDBERG, '30. Mm. Recipe for Happiness jest happy as a blue bird, A-singin' blithe and gay, Oh, that's the life for anyone Who's happy all the day. Don't sit around all time an' mope, See how the sun's a-shinin'g An' watch the clouds go floatin' by jest like a lazy lamb. It doesn't pay to' sit an' cry, You're jest a-wastin' water. So tell your tear drops all goodby, An' 611 your heart with laughter. T'wi1l make a better man of you To say that you don't care. . An' as the sunshine dries up dew, Watch all your sorrows fly. MARGARET WILLEY, '30. Page' Thirteen

Page 16 text:

Page Twelve Thanksgivin' Day N Thanksgivin' is a'comin', an' Ise sholy glad. Cullud boys is happyg oh! dey can't get mad. Tu'key, chicken, 'possum 'pears befo' dey eyes, I An' dere mouf des watahs ez dey t'ink of pies, ' All us boys dis caper an' We hop an' jump, ' Git on ol' gray Dobbin an' jes mek him hump, Plenty times us look in thoo de kitchen dof, I 'A But it meks our mouf jes' watah all de mo'Q Ebery time ole mammy habs 21 job fo' me, I I jes' runs andhollers, Mammy, here I be! Yo' don't dooz a bit 0' Wo'k, ole pappy says, But I sho gits 'dustrius jes befo' dat day. A F ELIX WILLIAMS

Page 18 text:

Effects of F rowns If you should frown, and I should frown While walking out together The happy folk about the town Would say The clouds are settling down In spite of pleasant weather. FRANCES PERKINS. The Early Bus With a push and a hearty shove we crowd ourselves into the street car. A few are lucky enough to get a seatg Come on, Lucky. If-Iold my books for me. That's a nice pal, frankly calls a friend. Do you think this street car will catch the early bus ? asks a painted, waxen flapper between the chaws of her favorite gu1n. 'fYes, I'm sure it will. I ran some in order to catch it, is the answer. With a stretch of many necks and a cheer from several voices, we see the bus standing waiting as we turn the corner. Like a center smash, we go from the street car to the already crowded bus. The bus is built to seat 'thirty-five, but the driver makes eighty his limit. ' Move on back there, Cheese! Well for gosh sakes, Mary, who can help it if your white socks get wiped on, calmly assures a young student to his closely pressed neighborg As we ride merrily along, one can hear various scraps of conversation. Ouch, somebody's pen is sticking my back. 'Tm standing like a button hook. Who has my history? Oh gee, I'surely did. get the Worst bawling out today I have ever had. Some one cries with pain. Who in the world has on a porcupine coat? Others almost die with laughter. That note was a scream. Say, big boy, hand over my handker- chief, come on, pass it over, chirps an angry teased girl. 4 As we make our way through the crowded aisle to the door, it re- minds one of a boa constrictor trying to swallow a fat cow. Witl1 a sigh of relief, we get off the bus and snatch from the windows our scattered belongings that are not fortunate enough to be stationary like a nose or an ear. , BEULAH Hour, '32. Time's Messengers Who bring the tidings that make time pass? Golden sand in an hour glass, The sun a-tossing its flaming head, And an orange moon when day has Hedg A robin, in spring, to tell he's back, A calendar's numbers of red and black, Little feathers of snow to show winter's here, And a tiny red leaf bringing autumn near,- We'll always know that the Past is past, For Time's messengers bring the news so fast. . ' MARGARET PECK, '31, Page Fourteen