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

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A PERFECT DAY ROOKIE, A DOG STORY You have asked me to write of a perfect day When all of the world is sweet; And I ' ve thought and thought that dav to find When sad things and bad things w r ere under ray feet. I thought over the beautiful days of my life But with joy there was always some sadness there, Some little blemish that marred the whole But made the joy seem only more fair. So I ' ve come to think that perhaps it is true, That as cracks in the diamond give back the light, And so make the beauty we prize so dear, That the sad things make glad things more bright. And the perfect day that I hope to find May be over the line of the Great Divide — A day so perfect and radiant and rare, I know that I shall be satisfied. Adella Gay. THE HUMBOLDT COUNTY REDWOOD FORESTS After following the Redwood highway for about one hundred and seventy-five miles you come into the redwoods which give the highway its name. The trees stand like tail columns reachings their tops high into the air to support the great blue dome of the sky. The reddish brown bark of the trees make the whole atmosphere redden, and gives trees, shrubs, and ferns a peculiar red glow. These redwoods grow in groups of ten around the stump of some fallen monarch of the forest. Many of the trees are dedicated to famous men. Also several of the most magnificent trees are dedicated to the world ' s greatest men. The highway follows the Eel river for over a hundred miles. This river is not deep or swift, but flows along at a slow, rip- pling pace and reflects perfectly every huckleberry bush and tree on its banks. The ferns and huckleberry bushes form a carpet, woven by nature for her great tem- ple. All these trees, ferns, and shrubs com- bined with the glistening, twisting, blue river form a lovely picture. Esto Linscott H-9. THE BREEZE-BLOWN CLOUD I saw a cloud away up high, Between the earth and azure sky. ' Twas all alone and snowy white, And floated like a breeze- blown kite, I turned around and looked once more, And numbered sheep a half a score. Upon that cloud they stood as still, As the old oak trees on yonder hill. Of course they were not really sheep, Because they did not walk or leap. I thought this then; I spoke aloud, They ' re onlv designs on the breeze-blown cloud. Gertrude Prusso L-8. I am a homely, shaggy-haired airdale, born in the movie colony at Hollywood. My first master was Theodore Roberts, the greatest character actor that ever came on the stage. If it hadn ' t been for the veterinary who cut my tail, I might have been a movie actor myself, for when I was a puppy, and was in a basket with my sisters and brothers, a man came from the Lasky studio, and w r anted one of us to be trained to act in the movies. He picked me up first, and said, This is a nice-looking little fellow; I think I ' ll take him. My master, Mr. Roberts, said, Oh, don ' t take him, his tail is too long. So the man took my brother Scout instead. Just for that extra joint in my tail the movies missed a great dog. I was certainly disappointed, but I cheered up for a few days. The awful blow came, however, when he gave me to his niece and I was sent away, before I had a chance to bite his pet Siamese cat in the leg. My new master took me down to San Diego, where horror of horrors, I found that she possessed a small son, who had the most distressing habit of grabbing my tail and pulling it with all his t.ny strength. My tail, short as it was, afforded a very good grip for his small hands. I was just getting settled and had a most wonderful collection of bones buried in vari- ous places in the backyard, when my master moved to San Francisco. Oh. what fun! Of course, I immediately started in to lick all the dogs in the neighborhood, and I finally succeeded. A short time after we had arrived, I heard my master say that my old master, Mr. Roberts, was coming to dinner. I went out in the back yard and strutted, for when I was a puppy I heard Mr. Roberts say he could tell a good dog by the way he stood. I hadn ' t strutted long, when I heard the bell ring, and I rushed into the house to greet my celebrity. He reached down, patted my head, and in a disgusted tone of voice said, O, what a dog. He doesn ' t show a drop of his thoroughbred blood. I was simply crushed, for I certainly thought that he, at least, would be glad to see me. I rushed into the back yard, and hid under the back steps. It was then quite dark, and as I lay there, quite sad at heart, I saw the black form of a man climbing over the back fence, and realized instantly that he was a burglar. Ah, I saw at once the chance of my lifetime to redeem myself with my old master. I crouched and waited for the man to approach near enough for me to spring at him. All of a sudden I sprang at his throat, missed, but got him on the shoulder. The weight of my body was suf- ficient to carry him off his feet. He yelled and the sound seemed to fill my body with a new strength. I held on while he, on his hands and knees, dragged me across the yard. When he reached the fence, he stood up and gave me a heavy blow on the side of my head with the butt of his revolver. Everything went black before my eyes. When I came to, Mr. Roberts was bathing my head with cold water and saying, Well, he is a good dog after all, and to my great ioy added, I doubt if Scout w r ould have done as well. Fred Glover L-8.

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DO YOU REMEMBER? THE RIVER Recess at Oxford ? What scandals, what disclosures! We gambled! A mysterious box with minute, countless holes! Could it contain a potato bug ? A mouse ? A fero- cious snail? Ah, no! Nothing so guileless! It was a wicked pin-box! A pin-box, where the evil-doer might obtain paper-dolls, second- (or third-) hand valentines or other such immoral things. What is that child hopping around for? She should be taken to a veterinary-a-er-a- well, you fathom my meaning! Oh, it is just a game of Hopscotch! Sweet childhood! Such innocent (!!!!) pleasures! Yodellings float upon the atmosphere, sweet or otherwise. Go in-n-n-n-n a-a-n-d out th ' winda-a-a! Go in-n an-n-n-d- out th ' windah-h-h! Go in and ou-u-u-t th ' win- dow! As we-e-e-e-e-e-e have done be-e- fore! and that sentimental (page the cen- sor!) phrase — I kne-e-e-1 becuz-z-z I love you-u-u, but let them rave on, we know how soon disillusion cometh! Do Ed. Rivett and Dick Talbot perchance recall the story and poem still to be seen in the fast-fading and dog-earred Carrier Pigeon for 1920 ? Who can tell how many pencils were consumed over the notable one composed by the hale and hearty volley ball captain ? Columbus said, ' The world is round, ' etcetera! Ah! the magical name of Santa Claus! Stockings hung up at the ' chimbley ' with care! And also, you of Oxford, do you not recall the perfectly scrumptuous and thrill- ing way we celebrated Christmas ? How on light fantastic toe we danced hand-in- hand around the Christmas tree ? Boys not excluded. But all remark together: As childhood ' s links we sever Them days is gone fer-rever! Katharine Rogers H-9. THE RISING SUN When birds have just begun to peep, And all the world is still asleep, It seems that I ' m the only one, To watch the rising of the sun. The glittering dew drops on the ground, The sparkling foliage all around And spider webs of pure silk spun Reflect like gems, the rising sun. The clear bright sky of turquoise blue, The fluffy clouds, a rosy hue; They float away as if to shun The dazzle of the rising sun. Then, in a glorious, golden burst The sun, a ball of fire, at first, Shines forth, as if the day were won, 0 hail the victory of the sun! 1 wonder just how much it ' s worth To see the sun adorn the earth ? Oh what a picture! There is none So gorgeous as the rising sun. Doris Wilson, L-8. Down by the golden rimmed river That flows into the treacherous sea, Is a spot where my heart lies forever, And ' tis there that I long to be. There, where the birds wai ' ble sweetly, There where the flowers do grow, There my sweetheart will find me, Where that sunshiny river doth flow. The river, itself, rushes onward, Into a deep, blue sea; But it never once stops to think, that ' Tis there that I long to be. My love was a fairy-eyed person, Her tresses were golden and long, As T think of the days that are over, i remember the river ' s sweet song. Dorothy Mollin L-8. MOODS I can ' t begin to tell all about moods and what causes them. I don ' t know if the mooas are caused by the beating of your iieart or the pressure of your blood. I know one thing about moods and that is that the scenery around you certainly can make you change your mood. At different places you feel differently. That is, your moods change to different varieties. I think that in one day a person can have fifty-seven different varieties of moods. I, speaking for myself, go through fifty- seven varieties of moods, while attending school. In the morning, coming to school I feel that life is worth living. That is, of course, I am only in that mood when my algebra is finished and my English is done. The next mood period seems to come at the beginning of the second period. I feel so glum now that if anybody hinted that he felt like committing suicide, I would say, I ' m with you. The mood that I just mentioned, I call my algebra mood. The next great mood comes when the fifth period begins to dawn. If I am to receive a great examination paper, my heart begins to pound like a sledge- hammer, and my thoughts are glued to the examination papers. During the migration to Latin, my thoughts are in a happier mood, because, like Ichabod Crane, I get my Latin lessons by hook or crook. The dawn of a new era is coming. By that I mean the lunch period is in sight. I can ' t seem to find enough adjectives to de- scribe the mood I am in. I feel as if life is one grand and glorious feeling. I ' m not so grouchy and not so slow. By the time school has ended for the day I feel as if I had digested all of Heinz ' s varieties o f moods. Josephine Accamazzo.

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BOBBY ' S SOLILOQUY Papa put me in the attic, It was dark and full of bats, He kept me there for ' most five minutes, Just because I ducked the cat. Mama locked me in the closet, It was awful spooky there, It ' s a ter ' ble, ter ' ble punishment, Just for pullin ' sister ' s hair. Papa took me to the woodshed, I won ' t tell what happened there, He told me that I ' d learned my lesson, For throwin ' rocks at Johnston ' s mare. But when the day was over, I guessed it was worth while, Because with all my trouble, I made my sweetie smile. James Koford L-8-S. A PROMISE It was a typical Italian day, the sun was shining and a cool breeze was blowing. Through the narrow streets of Rome flowed a rushing stream of people toward the Colosseum, for today the Emperor was giv- ing a fine show. In the gladiators ' quarters, many were sharpening weapons or fixing armor. Standing by an open window was a young man, who from his appearance, was from one of the Northern Roman Dioceses, either Britain or Germany. An old man approached him. Swain, said the [old man, as you know, we fight tomorrow and I have a feeling that I will not come out of the Colosseum alive. My eye has become dim and my limbs less active ever since your father ' s death. Before we go into the Colosseum, I entrust to you this gold arm band. When our town was sacked by the Romans, my son and I became separated. He wore an armband like this, and if you ever see a man with a gold arm band do all you can for him as he is my son. That day the old man fell, but Swain survived. For ten years Swain fought in the Col- osseum, and nei ther man nor beast had been able to stand against him. He was said to be the best gladiator in Rome. When the Emperor returned from his wars, in which he conquered a part of Northern France, he brought with him a number of captives, one of which, because of his size and skill, was chosen to fight in the Colosseum. All day the circus went on with many exciting things to interest the people. Fin- ally the contestors dwindled down until Swain and the young man were the only ones left. As they faced each other, a hush came over the crowd, broken only by the clash of their arms. Swain had found a worthy opponent in the new-comer. He let the young man do most of the fighting, being content to parry the blows. When his opponent became more and more tired, Swain began to give blows. They were fighting in front of the Emperor ' s box. Swain made a feint for the other ' s head and then shot in two short jabs. The new comer lay on the sand. Swain stood over the fallen man to give the death stroke. He looked at the Emperor; his thumbs were pointed down. He looked at the fallen man. What was that that shone on the other ' s arm? A gold band! Swain turned to the Emperor and begged for the man ' s life. The Emperor laughed. Kill him, said the Emperor, Or you will both be slain. Swain pondered, What was this man to him? It was true, a friend had asked him to help this same fellow. But was not his life sweeter to him than this man ' s? Hurry, snapped the Emperor. At the sound of his voice Swain whipped out his knife and hurled it at the Emperor. It missed him but hit a guard. The Colos- seum was in an uproar. Guards came run- ning toward Swain. He stood over the fallen man and prepared to fight. Five guards went down before he fell under a mass of them. The people would not let the guards dishonor the body, but buried him in a Roman cemetery. On his tomb was written, Here lies Swain, who preferred to die rather than to break his word. Ed Rivett H-9 SAILING I I ' d like to sail away off from here, Out to the open seas, Way, way off from lands so dear, And see different birds and trees. II I ' d like to go to Switzerland And see the mountains tall, And all the other countries, I haven ' t seen at all. Ill Then I ' d get on board the ship, And sail away back here, And see the same old birds and trees, And our own land so dear. Georgie Fox L-7-A CHILDHOOD DAYS As I sit here by the fireside, looking at the dancing blaze, I wonder how ' twould feel to be o ' er my childhood days, How I ' d like to be a grandame, with a lacy cap on head, Or mayhap to be a greataunt and to lie all day in bed, How ' twould feel to have a grandchild come and climb upon my knee, And say, Grandma, won ' t you read to me? I think, and then I wonder if I ' d like my older days, I would, but nothing ' s better that the pre- sent childhood ways. Ruth Cawthorne L-9.