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

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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

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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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which had been the main cause of my brain fag. There was a cobbler in the village who was noted for being the champeen liar of the village. In his own estimation he knew everything from shoemaking to Latin. We used to go in and ask him questions about our Latin, but the strange thing about it was that we made more mistakes with his help than without. Pretty soon we began to get wise, so we made up a sentence and asked him to translate it. It went like this: Tempus fugit et ego pecuniam habeo, which means, Time flies and I have money. We told the cobbler that we were having trouble with that sentence and asked him to help us. He was very much complimented by this acknowledgement of his supremacy, and at once began to figure. Tempus, he said. Of course that ' s storm. The rest follows easily. Storm on the sea; look out for the rocks. At last we had found him out. When six months had elapsed, I went home and resumed my studies, including Latin. But even now, I am helped by my friend, the cobbler, for often when I am feeling discouraged over some difficult bit of translation, my thoughts go back to him and the dauntless courage with which he met his Waterloo. Then I say to myself, If he could bluff it through, so can I. James Koford L-8 A MODERN DAY IN APOLLO ' S LIFE Apollo jumps into his aeroplane and starts across the horizon. Guess I ' ll stop at New York, says he, and starts the aeroplane on her downward flight. The aeroplane and its occupant float over the busy crowd until they reach a parking space. Apollo jumps out and goes to his favorite brokerage concern. He goes up to the board to learn his fortune, Aha, ' Ambrosia Consolidated, ' 659 points. ' Bar- reled Sunlight, ' 999 points. Sounds rawther good, dontcha know. He then strolls down the street until he meets Cupid and Venus, but look, Cupid is very different from the one we see in our books! His clothes and hair-comb are as perfect and stylish as Rudolph Valentino ' s, and in place of his bow, he carries a gold-headed cane. Apollo looks at his wristwatch; he must go now. He walks to his plane, jumps in, and starts back to his proper position in the heavens. Margaret Crittenden H-9. A WISH If there ' s anything I hate to do It ' s surely wash the dishes, And if a fairy came to me And gave me just three wishes, The first thing that I ' d ask of her: Excuse me from the dishes. Now you all know as well as I, That really they ' re not hard to do, And if your going to dine in style To this one custom you ' ll be true; And yet, somehow, in spite of all, Excuse me from the dishes. Theodosia Stephens L-9. GARFIELD SIRKUS (With apologies to Kipling ' s Gunga Din ) Ye may talk o ' plays an ' shows, Like a guy what thinks ' e knows, Or of fun ye think that all the other schools have But ye ' better come to our school, (it ' s an above the par school) An ' you ' ll have the foolish feelin ' that all fools have. Now in Garfield ' s friendly halls, In October, all the walls Are covered with posters for the Sirkus, Oh, we all take home the word, An ' our famblies are absurd, Savin ' , What ye comin ' now for, trvin ' to work us? Oh it ' s run! run! run! For a whackin ' lot stimulatin ' fun! There is candy and there ' s punch, With sandwiches for lunch, An ' a lot o ' side shows extry — only run! Pauline Schuster L-9. THE YARN OF BILL JOHNSON A Base Ball Story I can still see in mind ' s eye, the three hundred fifty odd pounds, that composed Bill Johnson ' s rather stout body, standing in back of the plate, ready to give the ball a swat that would make it hit Sheriff Green ' s chicken-house outside the city limits. However, Bill ' s power wasn ' t as advantageous to the Ring-necked Coyotes as it might have been, for when Bill got up to bat, the outfielders would hoof it for the city boundary, mayhap to catch a ball, but if the ball got that far. it would be too high in the air to catch, and running for it would be useless. Although Bill was strong, he mixed his strength with brains. Finally he got onto the idea of whacking the ball onto the plate with his enormous strength, and thus send it into the air, giving him time to reach first base and sometimes second, be- fore the ball got down. On September fourth the Ring-necked Coyotes were scheduled to play the Roar- ing Lilies, for the championship of Jones County. In spite of the fact that the day was cold and drizzling, people came from all over the state to see the game, and there was no thought of postponement. Finally the game started. If you were to squeeze a great many fat people together, and fill in the nooks with skinny people, you would get some idea of what I saw from an uncomfortable perch in a tree. In the ninth inning of the game, the score stood 6 to 3, Roaring Lilies, favor, and Bill was up to bat for the Coyotes. What would he do ? The bases were full, two were out. and the next man up was a sure out. If Bill hit the ball into the air it wouldn ' t stay up long enough to bring the men as well as Bill, himself, in. You could have heard a pin drop. The silence was not broken until — a whizzing ball shot from the pitchers hand — and then — whack — the crowd began to shout with excitement. One runner came, the ball was