Ensley High School - Jacket Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

Page 31 text:

 I am tired of planning ami tolling In ihr crowded hive of men: I heart wcury of i»u»l l»n ; ami spoiling. And spoiling «tml building again. And I long for the dear old river. NVher - I iltvamcil my youth : vny; For n dreamer lives forever And si toller dies In a day. • I am sick of the showy seeming Of a Ilf that Is half si Ih : Of the faces lined with scheming In the throng that hurries by. From the sleepless thoughts' endeavor I would go where the children play; For a dreamer lives forever And a toller dies In a day “I can foci no pride, but rlty. For tin burdens the rich endure: There Is nothing sweet In tin city But the patient lives of the poor Oh. the little hands too skillful. And the child mind choked with weeds. The daughter's heart grown wilful. And the father's heart that bleeds! -No. no' From the street's rude hustle. From trophies of mart and stage, 1 would tly to the woods' low rustle And the meadow's kindly page. Let me dream as of old by the river. And be loved for the dream always. For a dreamer lives forever Ami a toller 'lies in a day. —Amki.ia Jackson. 27

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The Marthas and Marys iFHHAPS you have never stopped to think how various, sundry and [ multiplex are the dispositions, ideals and eharaeteristies of the mysterious beings: women. Strange to say. there are no two in the world alike in the intricate libers of their make-up, and yet according to a minimum division, there are two types of women and two only: the Marthas and the Marys. The pursuits and linal goals of these two distinct classes are the same, hut are arrived at by different means, one being the complement of the other. In these days of strife and turmoil, the social, political and religious, it is a difficult matter to make ourselves forget, even for a short while, the practical side of life. The almighty dollar stares us in the face with a beckoning linger, and with little persausion we follow its beck ami call. Time flics, and we, with our minds set on worldly tasks, hurry on with never a moment for consideration of the words: Take no thought, saying, ‘NVIiat shall we eat?' or ‘What shall we drink ?’ or ‘Wherewithal shall we he clothed? For your heavenly father knows that we have need of all these things. It is the practical woman who seems to “carry on” the programs already planned and who is thus the public's favorite. Hut, at her best, she should be classed as a Martha. On the other hand, though greatly in the minority, there exists a Mary who dreams and sees visions. Her goal is higher than the stars, for she works with an ideal of her own in view. She willingly lets the material side of life with all its fascinating and alluring elements, money, pleasure and fame, slip through her lingers while she grasps fur the visionary, the fanciful, the imaginary. She remains undaunted hv the mighty, overwhelming burdens of life, for she can dream ami imagine and idealize to such ail extent that practical problems seem little and insignificant. After all. it is the dreamer who lives: fatigue wears out the toiler unto death. It is hard these days to make ourselves believe that the dreamer is the superior woman of today. It is true that the world is run on Ihe most practical basis ever: it is the practical, far-sighted, business-like woman who seems to he in the limelight tif prosperity. Yet. according to the laws of compensation, along with her worldly prosperity there is bound to he a touch of unhappiness and fatigue: Hie relief from which only the dreamer can experience. After all, if il were not for the idealist, the imaginative thinker, the practical woman would never even sec her goal. Then let us look to the high, noble, ideal thoughts of life, “carrying on” with all the fervor and energy in us toward an ideal, for Christ said: “Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things. Blit one thing is needful and Mary hath chosen that good part which shall not be taken from her.”

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The ( lass of Twenty HHYINC to school the other morning, trying to concentrate m mind on the future of the class of nineteen twenty, I stumbled on a peanut and broke my journey. Anger coursed through my chest. Causing my Adam's apple to move up and down like the bobbin on a sowing machine. In a spirit of revenge. I crushed one of the peanuts against the pavement. To my amazement a dim. translucent sign outlined itself on the sidewalk: Life is just one nut after another. I marveled at the philosophy of the nut. and as I reasoned there came to my mind the realization that there could he no better place for the future revelations of the success and failure of the members of our class than in the confines of a nut. Another peanut was rolled from the hag and opened. I seated myself on the edge of tin concrete and looked onto a magic screen. Members of the class of ‘HO were tin principal actors in a sketch of Washing Ion, I lie Nation's capital. Claud Smithson had the distinguished honor of being Secretary of the Hod Carriers' I'nion. Haymond Hurlberl was a well known and popular ehaull'eui from Alabama, while Mildred Clark. I.ucile Leacock and Mildred Clitic were in the Senate as janitresses. When war or any other tragedy occurred tlu-y swept instead of wept. I.ucile Jordan and Dolly Scholl were the most prominent figures • m Pennsylvania Avenue. Note, please. I said lucre the most prominent figures on that famous street. I don’t want you to think I said they hud the most prom incut figures, of course they were the most prominent figures. They were traffic cops.” Ha die I Bell was engaged to a man by the name of Hope. When the Hell-Hope wedding was “pulled,” there certainly was some ringing. Charles Cannon, our ambitious classmate, was in business on one of our most prominent corners. He was the proprietor of a vegetable earl. It was a horseless cart. Charles pushed his business. Every morning the passers by could hear him shout, “Here’s whar you gets your roastin' cars . » cents an ear! Here, too! Here, too! came from the other corner, where lfrcd Nagel. Charles competitor, sat by his earl. Louis Sims was a short story writer. Some one asked him what was the hardest thing in the short story game. The hardest thing I have to do is sell them,” replied Louis. Arvel Logan had become famous in railroad circles. Any afternoon his voice could be heard at the L. N. station making the following announcement: “Mr. Willie Lenderman will punch your ticket. Step forward, please! Bessemer! Lineville! .uni! Needsmore! B-o-a-r-d-d-d-d! Don't forget your packages and umbrellas. I picked up another peanut and ern.-hed it between mV fingers. A street carnival loomed up amid the profusion of bright lights and characteristic noises. (iracefully poised on the toes of one foot on a loaping steed was Ruby Baird, giving an occasional Whoop, whoopec-ee! Now she goes sailing through the hoop, but great heavens, she fell!