Ensley High School - Jacket Yearbook (Birmingham, AL)

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William Cullen Bryant As I Knew Him One evening as I was walking up the road toward the village, I saw an old man walking across a field. Even from afar, he bore that dignified air that would make him singularly attractive, even though he were in a crowd. He climbed over a fence in that slow, careful manner which is peculiar to old folks. He was a gentleman in his seventies, yet he had a healthy look about him. A silver white beard covered his chin and chest. He had long, snowy locks hanging down his back from under an old black felt hat. His nose was round and stubby, and he bore a remarkable resemblance to Santa Claus. He stopped in the road and waited for me. “Good evening, George!” he greeted me as I came up. “Good evening, sir. Taking your regular exercise, I see.” “0, yes, yes. It’s a habit with me.” “Been a windy day, hasn’t it?”’ “Surely has. Listen how the wind whispers and whistles through those pines on the hill.” “Uh-huh. Weird, isn’t it?” “Yes. See that lone oak over in Farmer Osgood’s field? See how sturdily it stands. It has stood there a hundred years and may be standing for many more.” We walked a while in silence. I was wondering how a man born in such ill health, could now be so robust. Then, too. it seemed almost impossible that a poor farmer lad could now be a man of such great fame. “Let’s stop a moment,” he said in his slow, deliberate way, “and take a look.” We had reached the top of the hill by now. To the left, as we faced westward, the hill sloped away into extensive farming lands, dotted here and there with homes and barns of the good farming folk. The lowing of the cattle could be heard, and here and there the faint tinkle of a bell. To the right, the hill rose covered with tall pines shooting their straight shafts toward heaven. In front was the valley where lay the native town of Mr. Bryant. Through the trees in the valley could be seen the steeple of a church; and several columns of smoke rose skyward and disappeared. The delicate blue sky was tinted a soft pink just where the sun had disappeared behind the opposite hill. The fleecy clouds were painted with a tinge of crimson underneath. “0, look there!” exclaimed my companion. “Once, long ago, I saw a sight like that.” Silhouetted against the azure sky was a waterfowl. The duck was winding its way through the air. Presently it disappeared into the depths of the sky, leaving us alone in the evening twilight. GEORGE BRISBIN, ’25.

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 The Thanksgiving Gleam When the Pilgrims came to our shores and prospered, the gratitude they felt had to be expressed in some concrete way. To them a Thanksgiving Day seemed best, and a Thanksgiving Day they had. Today, we are in the midst of the celebration begun so long ago. What does the season mean to us? Let us look to a Thanksgiving full of praise for all the beauties of a wonderful world, a world at the laying of whose foundations God was present. “He appointed the foundations of the earth. ’ I et us be grateful for all the people in this wonderful world—myriads of them there are, some good and some bad, but all belonging to the marvelous whole of mankind. Let us be thankful for our own little place in this beautiful world and for the few among the millions whom we may know and love. Thanksgiving means most of all. perhaps, the giving of thanks for home, that heavenly place whose very name is the most melodious of all simple words. At a time when the simple joys of home are rarely appreciated, may this Thanksgiving find us conscious of -our blessings. May the season fill us, too, with the determination to do our task well. As in the olden days a gleam of light shone out from a tavern window to light the weary pilgrim’s way. so this issue of “The Gleam —the first from 1923-1924—is intended to light the weary traveler’s journey through the year, making his high school tasks lighter and his way brighter. Just as in that time the gleam of light caused shadows—beautiful shadows, fantastic shadows, so our Gleam will probably cause shadows. We trust they may be beautiful shadows, effective shadows. In the dim past some wise man said: “There is nothing new under the sun.” We, the Gleam Staff, in getting out this issue, have tried to disprove this statement. If we have succeeded, it is to the credit of the students whose response has been so whole-hearted. In giving thanks on the wonderful anniversary of Thanksgiving, let us not forget “The Gleam,” the pride of E. H. S.. and the product always of many hours of happy and willing toil. VIRGINIA AVERYT, '25.

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THE GLEAM 5 The Sport of Sports What is the greatest of sports? You will say dancing, fishing, swimming. golf. No, it is none of these, although it has all the excellent qualities of each of these. The sport which I am thinking of is the sport of reading. Who among you does not feel the sensations of th iook down tne long sneives oi oooKs upon top of books in the library? And how many do not feel the thrills of the explorer as you go perusing from page to page and chapter to chapter? After you select the book of your choice and look through it a bit, you begin to eye around for some cozy nook where you may settle down for a few hours of pleasure. Imagine it is in the winter time. You pull up a nice chair and as you read you have only the crackling of the coals for accompaniment. Or just suppose it is in the summer time. You go hunt the electric fan and connect it on the porch near the swing; or perhaps there are woods near by with a talkative little brook running through their midst. All you have to do to attain unalloyed bliss is to seat yourself on the bank of the stream with your back against a tree. You can read on indefinitely with only the babbling of the brook to interrupt. “What kinds of books are the most sport?” you ask. Many kinds, I should say; poetry, fiction, history, or even French and Latin textbooks. Have you ever sat down and translated about a half-page of difficult French? Did you not feel the thrills of joy that possess the conqueror? If you do not love great books, try to learn to love them. You will find that golf, fishing, swimming, dancing are not the greatest of sports. WILLIE MAE MURPHY, ’26. :o: Help Wanted Scene; A Modern Office. CHARACTERS; MR. ELDER, a severe middle-aged man. slightly bald and very businesslike. ROBERT JONES, a thin, pale, young man of about twenty years of age. with a slow drawl. RUTH HUNT, a sweet-faced blonde; very sincere. LOUISE LONG, a very sharp-tempered young lady of the flapper type. MARTIN SMITH, a brisk business-like young man with a fresh and neat appearance. JACK, a bright office boy. possessing a large amount of common sense. (As the curtain rises, Mr. Elder and Robert Jones are sitting by desk covered with papers. Jack is dusting a table near by). a Mr. Elder: “So you have finished business college and have had a