Garfield Junior High School - Gleaner Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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DALE BROWN ' S FINISH The irregular hum of rapidly revolving motors quickly overcame the nervous ieel- ing Dale .brown had felt for the past week. His specially built Daisy, with a straight eight Miller special motor, awaited him at the pits of the Indianapolis Speedway, where Dale was to be give his chance to show his skill in the first big race of his career. His assigned mechanic was just entering the driver ' s entrance with a truck loaded with accessories and a supply of gasoline for the monster racing machine. Dale proceeded to the pits, and after fueling his machine, climbed to the driver ' s seat and with a relaxed feeling, let out the clutch and raced down the track. Once more the newcomer was himself, a cool, daring driver about to demonstrate his ability to the overcrowded grandstand spectators. As he rounded the curves he realized with a thrill that Daisy never ran better in third gear. Throttling the motor even higher, he threw the gear into fourth speed and was well satisfied. Driving around the oval several times, Dale finally drew up before the grandstand to receive expressions of en- couragement from one who had promised — if he won the race. This encouragement was all that he needed and Daie left the stand with a small white glove, her token of good luck. huriymg back to his place in line, Dale waited for final instructions from the star- ter, and with a deafening roar the ten machines were off, with Joe Boyer, veteran of the racing bowl, in the lead. Dale was riding calmly in fourth place, less than a rod behind Tommy Milton, his closest friend, and nearly ten yaras m the rear of the car driven by Cliff Durant, also a warm personal friend. At the end of the first lap Dale was riding in second place, a few feet behind Tommy Milton, now the pace setter. As they rounded the first curve, Dale threw his throbbing monster alongside Milton ' s Duesenberg, and, in fourth speed at ap- proximately one hundered and twenty miles an hour, passed the leader. Perhaps Dale ' s matter-of-fact driving was prompted by the presence of a dainty white glove in his shirt pocket, for after covering a hundred miles, his first race had netted him eleven hundred dollars lap money. Great indeed was the chagrin of Dale as he saw Harlan Fengler, a persistent chaser, driving a Frontenac, spurt along side and for half a mile strive to pass him. Finally, however, the tug-o-war ceased when the steering knuckle of Fengler ' s car broke causing one of the rear wheels of the Frontenac to injure Dale ' s mechanic. Dale had to halt at the pits to remove the helper. Without waiting for a new mechanic Dale dashed off, but for some reason the throttle foot seemed to have lost its nerve. Suddenly calling to mind the eyes of his sweetheart, and the little glove in the pocket nearest his heart, he put an added effort to his driving until he had reached third place. With a final spurt that brought the spectators to their feet, Dale swung Daisy over the line to win the honors of being first. But that was not all that he won. He was seen to leave the race track with other than a mechanic. He also drove a record breaking race to the minister ' s house. Dale Brown finished a marked veteran, a winner, and a happy groom. Joseph Sheridan L-9. THE HUMMING BIRD Whir-r — A flash! a dash, and away! As light and as swift as the steed of a fay. A tiny jewelled midget peeks through our green vine Hiding in tangles of purest jasmine. Seeking honey from these snow-white flowers. Enchanting, enhancing these lovely bowers. Flitting and flutt ' ring through shade and through sun, Black beads of eyes shine with mischief and fun. But who is this birdling, so blithe and so free ? A throat of crimson rubies has he, ' Neath it, a necktie of emerald green He may be swift charger of bright fairy Queen! A gay little elfin-bird, dainty and fleet A-darting and finding gold nectar sweet. But hark! He is off! To Fairyland gone! Through dale and through forest, where dance the young fawns. Now, who can he be? Oh, haven ' t you heard ? He ' s a tiny, tiny humming bird! Phyllis Preston L-8. THE HAWAIIAN Aloha, in plain English, Welcome, is the keynote of Hawaiian hospitality. The heathen Hawaiian, a semi-civilized savage, as self-satisfied modern man called him, is certainly more advanced in the arts of socia- bility and good nature than many modern men. In the twentieth century when the struggle for existence and step-fast-or- be-walked-over are the prevalent tones of every-day life, the easy-going, passive, let tomorrow take care of itself Hawaiian must go down before the aggressiveness and business is business policies of our more strenuous civilization. In the land of milk and honey where one picked one ' s meals off the trees and sat the rest of the day enjoying balmy breezes under plumy cocoa-palms, it is little wonder that the Hawaiian saw no need of unnecessary exertions. With his customary hospitality, he welcomed gladly the strang- ers from across the waters, who gave him gin and whiskey in return for his cocoanuts, and sha nty tenements for his plantations. But the easy-going, child-like, the trusting- everybody Hawaiian does not step fast enough and is left pitifully behind. And so, the Hawaiian will soon be a thing of the Past. James Hu L-9.

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AFRAID OF WATER (Taken from Life) Shorty was afraid of water. You must understand that. He was chilled to the bone at the sight of that great monster, the ocean, and by the equally terror-inspiring bay. All this was not without reason. When Shorty was two years old, (the time when most fears begin), an assmine uncle think- ing he could teach Shorty to swim, threw him in the water, and he consumed so much of it that he had never forgotten that un- happy incident, even when he had reached the age of seventeen. Shorty was a Scout. A good scout, too, everybody acknowledged it. He had been in the scout movement for five years and held the highest office his troop could give him. Next year his scout master, Mr. Wiseman, recognizing the boy ' s stellar qual- ity of leadership, was to promote him to the coveted position of assistant scout master. But there was one fly in the ointment. There is a test for first class scouts to pass which requires that they shall swim fifty yards. Shorty couldn ' t do this. And yet, it was his one great ambition to become a first class scout before giving up his position as senior patrol leader for that of assistant scout master. Bl diligent practice Shorty had learned to swim, although water still held all its old terrors for him. He was to go over to Sutro Baths with some other scouts to pass the final barrier between himself and the first class badge. Mr. Wiseman and most of the troop were going over to Sutro, partly to swim, but mostly to root for Shorty. On the way over he noticed that the bay was quite rough. This made him loose much of his confidence, he knew not why, but he wisely joined himself to his hilarious com- rades. Ihe trip through the streets of San Fran- cisco seemed ages to Shorty, but in a very short time really, they were at Sutro Baths. Shorty undressed with a beating heart and quivering pulse. He went down stairs to the baths in a trance. It seemed to him that his fellows ' hearty words of encouragement made him feel stronger and more able to overcome his fear. Ah! He was off! Five, ten, twenty, thirty yards passed, and still going strong. But a careless swim- mer passing by gave Shorty a mouthful, and down he went. Up again, with the old fear still strong in his heart. Ten yards more, with aching arms and bursting head. There ' s no turning back now, said Shorty to himself. Only ten yards more. Stroke, stroke, stroke, stroke, three pre- cious yards passed. There were no outsiders in the tank now, for they had grou ;ed them- selves around the finish line. Two yards more and with a sob and a gasp down went Shorty. With fighting spirit still intact, he rose and continued his efforts. Six strokes more, and Shorty, a victor in spite of his fears, crossed the line! Not a yard further, either, for down he went as he saw the fifty mark flashing by. Get him! shouted Mr. Wiseman. Willing hands rescued Shorty, and hauled him out of the pool. He went to his locker and dressed. Oh, would the fellows never come? Would his head-ache ever stop? He didn ' t know he had so many places in his anatomy for muscles to ache. But he should worry, he was a first class scout. Gee! Think of it! Wouldn ' t mother and dad be proud! Shorty was carried down to the street-car in a triumphal procession by his friends. The return car-ride was one long series of congratulations. When he got on the ferry, he very wisely went below for a cup of coffee to stimulate his jagged nerves. Wow, that was good. Makes me feel like a new man. Guess I ' ll go up on deck. As Shorty was strolling along the lower deck, he heard the stentorian cry, Man Overboard. With one swift, appraising glance, Shorty took in the situation. All the scouts were on the upper deck. Quick, something must be done, for twenty-five yards astern Shorty could see a wisp of white, which he knew must be a baby. It had already gone down once. Throwing off his coat, Shorty dived after the marooned babe. He made twenty yards without mishap for he was swimming head-on against the swell, but about five yards from the object of his efforts he shipped a sea. Would he never learn to close his mouth when he was swimming ? At last he had the baby safe in his grasp and turned around. Horror of horrors, the distance between himself and the boat had been trebled! Shorty was a true scout, and scouts are always prepared. So, grasping the child with one arm, he set out to swim twice as far as he had ever done before. How he made it he scarcely knew, for his water-logged boots hindered him cruelly. He did not know that a life-boat had been sent out after him, he did not know that he was picked up almost drowned and the baby almost as bad, while still a good dis- tance from the ferry. The first thing he remembered was that he was lying on a bench with admiring deck hands attending him and keeping the crowd back, while a tearful mother was smothering him with grateful kisses. And that ' s why the National Council awarded Shorty the gold medal for heroism, which is the highest honor the scouts can receive. And that ' s why Dan .beard called it the bravest thing he had ever heard of a scout doing, for, as he said, you conquered your fear at the time when most other scouts in your position would have said ' Let some one else save her; I almost drowned myself once today. ' I congratulate you. You are a Scout. David Lyon L-9.

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TO RAMON NAVARRO (Dedicated to K. R.) Oh King of Love, of heart-throbs wild and pulsing, Followed by flippant flapper and by dame, By negro lass and lovely dumb bell, Dulcy, Who blush quite red at sound of thy sweet name. Cast not thy soulful orbs on my friend Katy, The poor young thing, I fear, will go quite daff, For tho she likes thy handsome beauty greatly, Her worship is a thing to make you laugh. She stays all day at movies of thy making, Sighing like the North Wind in the trees, Her comfy home and fireside forsaking, She cares not if she bake or if she freeze. On earth thy darkly brown eyes ' sheikish beauty Is the only thing that fills her fragile head. She cares not, while she lives, to do her duty, And her spook will surely haunt you when she ' s dead. Take heed, my friend, send no films to our city That poor child ' s school work will go straight way up the flue And she, so bright, ' twould surely be a Pity To waste her precious time on naught but you! Betty Branstead H-9. THE TEXAN ' S REVENGE Hair Trigger Condon, the quickest gun- man this side of Ecuador, was engaged to Sarita Atlar, the daughter of a millionaire cattleman of Horseradish, Texas, and the owner of the Square Circle Ranch. Sarita was a slender young maiden of seventeen falls, (none of them turned out disastrously) Her lover, Hair Trigger Condon, was a man who was so hard that he scratched the bathtub. When the story opens, Kid Rush, the pride of Sing Sing, had just left his old home, and was riding on the fast morning milk train, bound for Bed Springs, Arizona. The conductor realized that the Kid was riding on a free ticket, so he gave him an in- vitation to spank the highway. Because of financial embarressment, Kid Rush found it necessary to work. He got a job at the Square Circle Ranch. While he was work- ing there, Sarita fell for him and his line, so she sent back Hair Trigger ' s ring, and told him that she loved another man. When Hair Trigger got this news, his rage was indescribable. He immediately leaped astride his terrible truckhorse, Maria, and dashed across the plains puffing steam. He anchored Maria to the ralroad track and went in search of Kid Rush, but he was not in evidence. A duel was arranged, however, for the next day at noon (Eastern Standard Time). The next day dawned bright and clear (for Hair Trigger). Condon arrived at the scene of the coming duel at half past eleven. Kid Rush was dragged to the scene by the nape of his neck, and tied to a post so he couldn ' t get away. A large crowd had gathered to witness the execution, (of the Kid). In order to scare the Kid, and show how good he was, Hair Trigger tossed a sinker, that was too stale to eat, up into the air, and took a shot at it with one of his young cannons. When the doughnut came down, the crowd rushed forward to see it, and lo! there was a hole in it! All were astonished to see the wonderful piece of marksmanship. At twelve o ' clock (Eastern Standard Time), the duel began. The men marched twenty paces apart (although the Kid could hardly walk) turned quickly, and began fir- ing. Hair Trigger began firing, and a cloud of dense, black smoke hid them from the view of the expectant crowd. They heard Hair Trigger hre twelve shots, and Rush fire one in return from his little automatic that he had used to gain entrance to Sing Sing. There was a deep silence while they waited for the smoke to clear. Suddenly a gust of wind blew the smoke away, and could you believe your eyes ? Hair Trigger lay in a pool of blood, his smoking shooting irons beside him! Kid Rush was leaning nonchalently against a post, lighting a cigarette. Sarita fell into his arms, bearing him to the ground with her four hundred and sixty-three pounds net weight. Oh, my big hero, exclaimed she, how did you do it? It was easy, replied the Kid, I went over to his joint and put blank cartridges in his guns. Arthur Boles H-9. MY ' LARM CLOCK My ' larm clock is a trusty friend, So I call him Busy Ben. And every morn when I ' m asleep, He scares me quickly to my feet. But surely if t ' were not for him, Late mornings, I ' d come strolling in, So Saturday I do my best, To let the ' larm clock take a rest. Thomas Smith L-8. AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF A LATIN SCHOLAR Several years ago, when I was a pupil at the Garfield School in Berkeley, it was the custom of the teachers to give four hours of homework every night. I strug- gled bravely along until I fell ill. My mother was forced to call the doctor, and after he had asked me a few questions and felt my pulse, he concluded that I had studied too hard, and should go to the country for six months, or until I should regain my former health and vigor. So I went to the quaint little village of Vacaville, where I stayed with my Uncle Jim, and Joe and Henning, my two cousins. I had a fine time playing with my cousins on Saturday and Sunday, but when the dreaded day, Monday, came my two cousins and I went to the Union High School, where I continued with the glorious study of Latin