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

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MY HOLY GRAIL When Sir Launfal started out it was the spring of the year and of his life. It is spring again! T ' is another knight that is starting in search of the Holy Grail. I am starting out in search of my Holy Grail. My Holy Grail is to be a successful banker. It will be a long, hard search and to succeed I must work, and work hard. The spring of the year is here and it makes one feel like work. It is one of God ' s ways of helping. There is a s aying that a successful banker is composed of about one-fifth accountant, two-fifths lawyer, three-fifths political economist, and four-fifths gentleman and scholar — total ten-fifths, double size. Any smaller person may be a pawnbroker or a promoter but not a banker. I must train myself while I am young and make armor that has twice as much strength as the usual armor. I am making my armor out of the richest and purest gold I can find. The helmet of my armor is to be strength to do what is right. The sword, bravery. The chains in my coat of mail are to be made up of honesty, kind- ness, generosity, courtesy, thriftiness and cleanliness. The spurs are to be made of cheerfulness, to spur me on. My surcoat is to be education. To make my surcoat I must study hard now, in high school, in college, and in the bank. Will I be a successful banker? Ah! I hop e so. But hope will not put me there. Work will. If I find, as Sir Launfal did, that my armor is not made out of pure metal I will change it as he did. Every day, with my armor, I plan to conquer some hard lesson to win the Castle of Education. Time must not discourage me. I must not give up hope. I will point to the successful banker and say, He did it; I ' ll do it too. It is m} ' firm belief that if I keep my armor bright and never let it get rusty, I will be a successful banker and leave the earth better than I found it. Roy Stephens, H8. BARREN LAND You said I should love the desert And revel in its vastness But my heart from all your desert bonds is free. I long for paths and woodlands. For vine-clad, trellised gardens, For rocks and sky and winds and shore and sea. You are so gray and silent — Your sharp and rugged mountains. Your lines are harsh and quick and wrong; my hills would never be. They dip in laughing dimples Of shadowed blue and purple, And roll between their valleys to the sands beside the sea. Your deserts are so sombre — So still — and non-responding, I beat light wings against my bars; oh, this captivity! No mists to soften hard, bold lines This blinding, brilliant sunlight — I thirst for wind-dipped sails, the foam- whipped, gray, gray sea! Betsy Alling, L9.

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feeling. She put out her sleek, white arms to embrace the deer, and found herself in the arms of the youth Lucydides, changed to a hind because he had aided one of Artemis ' nymphs to marry one of his friends. He had been rescued by the pure, innocent love of the chaste one ' s favorite. Selene, from above, found, to her sorrow, that Eros is not to be restrained, while Eros flew away with a satisfied feeling of work well done. Phyllis Preston, H9. MY SURPRISING DREAM As I was walking through the deep woods, one bright, sunny day, I heard a faint, crackling noise. I looked back of me and turned around three times, but saw nothing. Finally, looking down, I saw a large oak leaf lying on the ground. Some one seemed to be under it tn, ' ing to lift it up vdih short, little pushes. I lifted the leaf up and there I saw, stabbing it wath a stiff, sharp needle from a tree, a ver ' small fairy. He was no taller than a pansy. His eyes were blue, his nose was long and red, and his suit was of autumn brown. As soon as I lifted the leaf, he gave a little squeal, which caused another fairy to slip from behind a tree where he had been hiding, and hand in hand they ran down the flower and moss embedded path. I was just about to run after them, when I awoke and the birds were singing happily to the rising sun. Maybelle De Bois, L7. THE SOLDIER A soldier lay suffering all alone. He ' d a wounded arm and a broken bone. His face was white as a ghost ' s would be. And blackness seemed to be all he could see. He laughed as he stood before grim Death, And began to think of his sweetheart, Beth. A tear rolled down his white, white face. Then he seemed to fall into black, black space. He opened his eyes and it was light. But, what was that which glowed so bright? ' Twas a flag, his flag, the red. white, and blue That sailed on the breeze with brilliant hue. A happy sigh; the battle was won. And he closed his eyes — his da} ' was done. Elinor Ford, H8. A SHADY NOOK It was a beautiful little spot, hidden from view by tall, large hemlocks. It was near our woods and a little brook ran by it. The needles had fallen from the trees and made the most velvety carpet. Right in the center of this beautiful nook was a little spring. It was so clear that it looked like a bubbling bowl of crystal. Right by this little mirror was the largest and oldest hemlock, kno Mi to us as The Giant Hemlock. It spread its long, gigantic roots around the little spring, as if to pro- tect its loveliness. I don ' t think that anything in this world could be more beautiful than to lie on the needles, and watch the gentle breeze softly sway the branches, and listen to the gurgling of the brook. ' May Wilton, H7.

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THE SCARLET CLOAK In the audience court, had assembled the king and his wise men. The king shook his head sadly. Then he spoke. ' Tt is of no use. I cannot cure him of his selfishness. It will take a greater power, far greater than mine. All the wise men and courtiers shook their head and looked gloomily at the boy who stood pouting by the window. x s if in answer the boy shouted: ' T want the scarlet cloak and I shall have it! The prince stamped his velvet clad foot as a symbol of his defiance. But, my dear prince, it is the cloak of the dead prophet. If I cannot have it, I shall go home tomorrow! screamed the wayward, self- ish prince. Very well, you may have it, replied the king, but you shall start home to- morrow. You have been a constant worry to me. That night the king sent for the prince. Handing him a beautiful scarlet cloak with gold trimmings he said, This is the cloak you have asked for. It belonged to the dead prophet. Heretofore, no one has ever worn it. Now I am giving it to you in the hope that it may do you much good. The haughty prince draped the gorgeous cape about him and stalked out of the room, without thanking his uncle for the lovely gift. The next day the prince set out for his own home which was leagues away. Ten soldiers and twenty knights rode away with him. The people of the town ran to their doors to see who was coming. The prince felt very grand in his scarlet cloak as they rode along. A little girl reached out her babyish hand to feel of the soft velvet. The boy drew his cloak haughtily aside for fear her tiny hands would soil it. Strange in- deed! The cloak, which had before hung nearly to the ground, was now a foot or two shorter. The boy prince was not aware of it, but the squire saw it and wondered. The day was cold, bitterly so. Across the sky black snow-clouds hung. The little squire ' s nose was red with cold. I wish I had brought a warmer cloak, he chattered. The prince drew his scarlet cloak more closely about him. I do not feel the cold, he said, My cloak keeps me quite warm. Suddenly he felt a queer sensation. The wonderful scarlet cloak had shrunk to his knees! What is this? he shouted angrily, What kind of a cloak has my uncle dared to give me? He shook off the cloak, feeling insulted, but in an instant was glad enough to put it back on again. At noon the procession stopped for food and rest. While they were warming their hands, an old man came tottering down the road. He was bent and feeble, and his face was blue with cold. At the sight of the fire he stopped and finally came closer. The little squire stepped courteously aside to make room for him, but the selfish prince spread himself out in the place the squire had left. Then he gave a loud, angry cry. The gorgeous cloak had shrunk so that now it was just a short, tight, red jacket! All the men gathered around, staring stupidly at the cloak. Get away, get away! You make me nervous! My uncle certainly chose a fine gift, indeed! The men hastily retreated, amazed at the prince ' s unseemly wrath. Suddenly, the prince turned on the old man, and would have struck him down, save that the squire caught his upraised arm in time. Tut, tut, my lad, ' twas not the poor beggar ' s fault. Gather up, my good men.