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

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THE WINNING TOUCHDOWN The right was his To take the ball With all he had Through that human wall. He gripped his hands, The game was at stake For his Alma Mater And everything to make. The ball was shot He gave a sign The tacklers missed He cleared the line. He staggered on Half-trot half-run He crossed the goal The game was won. Dick Hemp, High Seventh. RAIN I stood at the crest of a hill one day, Just at the sunset hour, And watched the clouds go drifting by, Each holding a crystal shower. As night came on the clouds grew gray, And on my window pane, I heard a soft sharp tapping sound, The clouds were scattering rain. The lightning flashed, and streaked the sky The thunder roared the whole night long, The wind whistled and howled and shrieked, ' Till a calm came after the storm. With morning came a wondrous change, All nature seemed to beam, What had been dead the day before, Was now a sparkling green. The birds were singing in the trees, And butterflies danced on the flowers, All the world sent its praises to Heaven, For God who sent the showers. Eileen Hopps.

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O-HE-TA-YA (Brave) He was a full-blooded Indian of the Blackfoot tribe. As he sat beside me looking towards the setting sun, his high forehead and firm chin stood out well in profile. He was about fifty years old, yet as lithe and limber as a young man. His name was O-he-ta-ya. This means brave. He had aptly proved his name in his younger days. Now, compelled to end his days in a reservation, he thought he had no chance to live up to his name. But I think he has. It is not easy to be calm and cheerful when one sees one ' s race rapidly disappearing, to be tolerant towards the laws of the white man that seem to be full of injustices for one ' s people. It is not easy to resist the tempta- tions that beset a despised Indian, and remain as clean and strong as the older Indian before the white man. He showed me his headband, made by his mother. On it were beaded his symbols. The mountain, for strength; the hand, for service; the arrow, for unswerving purpose. This headband he cherished. The symbols had shaped his life and character. Joyce Hoeft, High Ninth. TO A DOG I have a friend who is kind and true, A friend who helps me when I ' m blue. He comes to greet me every day, In a very friendly way. He ' s only a dog, but do you know? He ' s always with me where ' re I go. He ' s always faithful swift and brave, And guards me all the livelong day. He seems to know when I ' m sad And tries to cheer and make me glad. Tho ' other friends may come and go, With a faithtul dog it is not so. Hamdex Forkxer. .High Seventh. CHILDREN Some children are naught} ' , some children don ' t care; Some children won ' t wash, some won ' t brush their hair; Some children are happy, some children are sad; Some children are good, some children are bad; Some children are saucy, some children are bold; Some play in water, then they catch cold; Some children won ' t study, and others delight, In shirking their work and stay out at night; Some children won ' t do as their mothers say, Then they are punished in some severe way; But to all mothers, their children dear, Are sweet and kind, throughout the year. Nancy Whiteock, Loiv Eighth.

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JUST A BOAT RIDE We had started on our boat ride. Perhaps not the kind of boat ride you expected, but a boat ride, nevertheless. The giant air ferry amphibian, Standard Oil owned plane, carried us soaring ever higher over beautiful San Francisco Bay. We were up for a half-hour ride with nobody to interrupt us. How could they, anyway, when we were at a height of five thousand feet above the bay? As we roared our way through the cloudless skies I looked below. Everything seemed so small, houses were toys, men were ants, cars reminded me of sow-bugs, while ships were toothpicks. The wide, broad streets of San Francisco made me think of threads among mounds of dirt, while the great San Francisco Bay reminded me of a dot of water ori a relief map. I looked ahead and watched the pilot. It seemed to me there were hundreds of instru- ments. While we were sa iling through the air, twenty minutes were up. The plane nosed toward Alameda field. The pilot cut the motor. We seemed to zoom down like a bird of prey upon its unsuspecting victim. Then we landed. That was the end of my first boat ride. Wallace Macfarlane), High Seventh. MY GRANDMOTHER A gentle, sweet, unselfish lady, Blessed with love ' s most perfect grace, Who in spite of tears and sorrow, Keeps a cheery, kindly face. Finding peace in love ' s content, With her fascinating ways, Tells us oft amusing stories Of her quaint old-fashioned days. Always is a charming figure, By the cheery fireside, In her dress of pale soft lilac, Trimmed with lace, and ribbon-tied. Cara Sawyer, High Eighth. Through the shadows softly sifting, Hiding from the moonbeams drifting, Where the gentle dew is falling, Where the drowsy birds are calling, Where the flowers their petals fold, Neath the oak tree, bent and old, Breathless, can ' t you hear the beating, As of fairy footsteps fleeting? Pausing now, it loiters, lingers, Touching with its unseen fingers Walnut creams and dark molasses. Softly, up the vale it passes.