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

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and the last three, there Was a distance of some sixty yards. The crowd rocked to its feet with a roar of laughter. What was it? Why none other than Tory Brion. bringing up the rear, arms flapping, head jerking from side to side. But look! He is passing the fifth man round the last turn. Pounding dovm. the last straightaway, he battles for fourth place. The cheer leaders spring into action with Six big ones for Brion! ' The field microphone blares the story of that race as if Bonthron and Cunningham were battling it out for the world ' s record. Brion. gasping and panting, parades in front of the stands for all to admire and to see. His friends on the field rush to slap him on the back and shake his hand. Xext time, he will surely catch Dickie. And the next day the papers carried the following account of that masterpiece of competition: Two mile — Simpson (C) first; Xickerson (C) second: Dickie (C) third. Time 10: 18. That Tory Brion also ran ' was not even mentioned. Emily Stout, Hi h Xine. STOOGE Phil Kirk, as became a senior who was captain of the football team, has acquired for himself a stooge. ' Freshman Billy Rathbone had that honor, solely because he had a pretty sister Connie, PhiPs newest heart- break. Not that Billy acted as if he were honored in being Phil ' s stooge. ' He was anything but humble and submissive, and made it all too clear that he hated being anybody ' s stooge and especially Phil Kirk ' s. The attitude annoyed Phil into cracking the whip all the more. Phil ' s stooge problem, however, was sHght compared to his girl problem. He sat in the biggest, easiest chair of the H. H. shack and thought it over. He had rushed ] Iarge for two terms now and she ' d expect him to take her to the H. H. dance. But I won ' t take that anemic-looking blonde, he decided, when there ' s a gorgeous brunette like Connie around. Just then, there was a pounding on the door, and in came, not one of the big shots, but only his puny, scrub stooge. Whatsa matter? taunted Billy. Didn ' t ya hear me the first time? ' Twip. ya better watch out. raged Phil. Outside! and his famous football toe placed the kick neatly. Billy picked himself up and limply sat down on a cracker box outside the door. Gee. I ' d hoped we would be pals, he thought. And maybe he ' d notice Pm a swell football player and put me on the scrub team. He groaned aloud Gosh, if I could only get on the team ! Phil heard this and guffawed. Him on the football team! What a laugh! Mien the date for the H. H. dance was set. Billy pertly asked Phil, I suppose you ' ll be taking that acid blonde? No. I ' m not going with ] Iarge Evans, answered Phil with dignity, and walked away. Billy was dumbfounded, and later on at home he pondered the situa- tion. Boy. I sure admire ] Iarge for standing up to that egg and refusing

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Wagon trains, heavily laden, and drawn by weary oxen, plodded slowly across the once peaceful plain. I watched men erect tents and begin cut- ting trees. Next, I saw lean-tos and cabins take the place of the tents. Men were everywhere, even walking up my sides to hunt and kill my tiny, furred friends. In terror, the squirrels and rabbits fled to the shelter of the trees and the hills above me. I was left alone, without my lively compan- ions, to watch and wait. More years passed. The plain by the Bay was filled with the homes of men. The houses were creeping up the hill from the Bay toward my feet. Men clad in rough clothes began to lay out streets along the old trails followed by the covered wagons. I no longer missed my squirrels and rab- bits, for children came to play games on my grassy sides. As time marched on, the creeping of houses reached my feet. Horse- less carriages raced along the road between. On a lovely sunny day, some men with shovels came to dig away great patches of grass and earth on one of my sides. I heard them saying, This rock is just what we need for our new streets. I wondered what they meant. Next day, I knew. Many men dug and tore at my side with wicked, snorting machines. They carried away my rock in great loads, leaving a great gaping wound in my side. Here I lie, torn and hurt, still looking down on the busy Bay and the long smooth roads I gave my heart to build. But, as I look down, I see that the grass and flowers are springing up again and are fast covering the scar in my side. Hals Sams, High Nine. HE ALSO RAN Brion had always been a dub, a nice boy, but dumb; no athlete, but persistent ; you couldn ' t help liking him. Even in high school field day races, he was always last. When it came time for the two mile race, his friends and some of the track fans who knew him would say, There goes Tony Brion. Poor fellow! Wonder why he keeps coming out? He never misses a race. He ' s a regular institution here for fifth or sixth place every time. After the race, some of the boys would come over, slap him on the back, and tell him that maybe next time he ' d beat the tail-enders. He ' d shake his head and say, If I ' d only put the heat on sooner, I ' d have beaten that fellow out of third place. Then they ' d wink at each other and tell him to slit his pants up a little higher. Then maybe he would be able to stretch his legs out further. But this Saturday was a perfect day for a track meet, hot and still without a cloud in the sky. Records were being broken right and left, and, to top it all, California was ahead. Then came the two mile race, and the fans settled themselves and waited for the gun. Two mile race. They ' re off! blared the field microphone. . . . At the end of the first lap: Tory Brion leading; time, seventy-eight seconds. End of the second lap: Brion still in first place; time, two minutes thirty seconds. End of the third lap: Simpson leading by five yards. Then came the eighth and final lap. Between the leading three men

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him ' he mused, but somehow without enthusiasm. He tried to convince himself he was glad to see Phil ousted, but he wasn ' t and he knew it. I bet Phil feels pretty bad, Billy thought, and when all the guys know this, I ' ll be in for some kidding, too, because after all I am his stooge, an ' Then he marched into his sister Connie ' s room. He found her approv- ingly smiling at her pink-pajamed reflection in the mirror as she recalled her progress with the popular Phil Kirk. Hi, sis, do me a favor. That old, mental flatfoot, Marge Evans, has turned down Phil ' s bid to the H. H. dance and he feels bad, an ' , an ' — I thought, seein ' you ' re a friend of hers, you ' d fix it up an ' Say, what ' s wrong; you look white, like you saw Karloff ' s ghost er sumpin ' ! Oh, nothing ' s wrong. I ' ll help you. Run along. That guy ' s just arsenic to me, but and out went Billy. Well, murmured Connie, I guess that ends that affair. Oh, well, life is just a bowl of cherry pits. At school next morning, Billy was reading a note asking him to report for football practice, on recommendation of Captain Kirk, when he looked up and saw Phil. He felt suddenly shy and could onlv mutter Thanks. Aw, every team needs a dumb guy who can take it, grinned Phil. Say, Billy blustered, I ' ve fixed your love affair for you, and he told his story. Why, you simpleton, jeered Phil. Marge didn ' t get a chance to turn me down. I ' ve been trying to get nerve enough to ask Connie. I ' ll go ask her now. Come along, ya ' stooge, ' his voice sounded warm and even affectionate. Billy, proudly following him, thought, Gee, life is swell! Sylvia Berry, High Nine. TOMMY, THE COMMUNISTIC CAT Tommy was a decided Communist. He had been one all his life. He did not believe in big executives. Oh, no! He didn ' t think that people ought to wear expensive clothes or drive around in beautiful motor cars. Today he looked rather thin; his blue-black coat had lost its shine, and, in general, he was a rather shabby specimen of a cat. As he walked along the sidewalk, he thought of the silly, little Persian cats basking in the sun with plenty of food in their tummies; while he. Tommy, the great Communist, was walking the streets in search of any morsel of food he could find in the gutter. Yes, everything would be changed when he started the Communistic revolt. With this thought in his mind, Tommy strolled into a beautiful gar- den filled with blooming flowers. An American patriot probably lived amidst all this finery. He turned in disgust to go out of the yard when his eye caught sight of a pretty, little, grey Angora cat sitting on a cushion in a green, lawn chair with a silky looking blue ribbon around her neck. A typical, uncommunistic cat. Walking out on the sidewalk again, he was startled by a shrill shriek