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

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By the Sea By the shore of the sea at fiuilight, I long to sit on t oe sand. While softly approaching conies t je night, Bringing peace o ' er all t oe land. I hear the leaves as they sing to me, Stories of vikings bold. Whose sJjips once sailed upon tloe sea, In days tJjat ivere of old. Then as the tide conies slowly in. Beating its waves ' gainst tloe sloore. Something stirs me deep wit Join — An urge to sail once more. — Dorothy Price, High Eight. (NO A DESERT SCENE The sun is hot upon this scene of stillness; of quiet. It is early in the morning and there is a slight crispness in the air as the sun peeks over the mesa and illumines the painted landscape with its golden luster. A lone giant cactus looms against the yellow fringed sky like a tall monu- ment to the supreme stillness of the desert. The ground is rocky and here and there is dotted with sagebrush and other hardy plants. In the distance lies a range of barren purple colored mountains tipped by a crown of orange where the sun ' s rays strike. A sky of deep blue fading to yellow-orange at the horizon blends with the range. High up in the heavens floats a vulture, a gliding scavenger of the desert, never seeming to flap his white tipped wings. There is a faint rustling among the parched bushes and a little lizard, who had previously been sunning itself, scampers off into a murky crevice in the rocks among the bushes. Wafted softly by the morning air a song is brought to our ears. It is a cowboy song and sure enough a mounted figure is seen approaching and pouring out his soul in jolly tunes. We see him more clearly and notice the bright colors of his outfit. He wends his way onward and, turning, is soon lost to view but his song is still ringing in our ears. It is still haunting us as we turn thoughtf uly back to our cabin. In a few minutes all is again still on the desert. The sun rises higher, shortening the shadows and casting a glare on the surrounding landscape. Such is the desert; the always changing, rest- less scenery that strangely produces the opposite effect on all that gaze upon it. — Brandon Howell, High Nine. 1

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gilded letters, forming the word Captain, stood in sharp contrast with the heavy oak door. In answer to my knock Captain Whalton admitted me to his office. Captain Whalton was a large, portly man, having iron gray hair and a moustache. His Irish blue eyes were shaded by gray, thick eyebrows. The impression was altogether favorable. After relating my complete story. Captain Whalton ' s face relaxed into a quizzical smile. I shall certainly do my utmost to solve this most baffling mystery, again his smile broadened. Now this Mr. Randall is but an acquaintance of mine. I have never had any reason to mistrust him; however, he will be closely watched. I deem it advisable to let the matter be kept from the public until we have a more definite light on the situation. The remainder of today will be spent to good advantage by my detectives. I am quite sure that your jewels will soon be located. In the event that they are not, however, we shall be right on the job, his blue eyes twinkled, his delightful smile spread across his face, lining it with merry wrinkles. Confident and hoping that my worries would soon be over, I returned to my cabin with a somewhat buoyant step. Opening the door, Icarelesslv glanced into the room. My face froze; then the ice broke. I cannot recall how long I stood in the doorway and laughed. Jocket was sitting on my dressing table coyly powdering her face and daintily fingering the beautiful diamond necklace around her neck. Elaine West, Low Nine. The Butterfly As down the garden patio I strolled, I sail ' upon tloe wall, A little loome of fairy mould, Wloich lay, so still and small. So day by day I watched it th ere, Until at last I saw ' . Instead of ugly greyish ivalls, A thing to fill with awe! A butterfly with painted wings. Upon a leaf nearby. Had left the now deserted home. Out in the world to fly. — Marjorie Larmour, High Eight.

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Farewell, Old Year The bells are chiming twelve o ' clock, It is your death knell that we hear; And soon will come the New Year ' s knock, Faretuell, old year. Your life ' s been filled with woe and pain, More room for sorroiv than for cheer; You ' ve but a moment to remain, Farewell, old year. A new-born heir ivill take your place, Your time to die is drawing near. I see death written on your face. Farewell, old year. — Lilian Hennessey, High Eight. THE MYSTERY OF THE BELFRY One bleak, January day a traveler was passing through the deserted town of Dublin. Suddenly, the sound of a bell echoed through the morning air. The traveler, knowing no one lived within miles, vowed he wouldn ' t go from Dublin until he ' d discovered the answer to this baffling mystery. The traveler, Jerry MacDonald, went to what was once the town hall where he knew the bell was located. He could find no clue there so he de- cided to stay near the bell day and night. In the night, Jerry had an inspiration. He thought it was only the wind ringing the bell. Suddenly the bell began ringing. The mystery is solved, he cried as he rushed up the stairs to the belfry. On his way, he noted the wind was from the east, but much to his surprise, when he got to the belfry, the openings were on the north and south! In the afternoon when he went to the nearest town for food he in- quired for someone who could tell him about Dublin. The city council directed him to the mayor ' s house and told him to ask for the mayor ' s son, Richard. He found the mayor ' s house to be of colonial style. It was a roomy house and richly furnished. A few minutes after he had rung the bell he found, confronting him, a handsome boy about sixteen. The head butler, he thought. But no, he did not wear the butler ' s uniform. Then he must be Richard. Jerry explained that he wanted to know as much as possible about Dublin. Richard surprised him greatly when he said, We ' ll go there now, and I ' ll explain things. After a pause, he said, You don ' t mind going in my fliver, do you?