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

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Carolyn Hardy, Ralph Harding, Barbara Hart, Jane Harter, Jacqueline Hasling, Mary Ann Hauselt, John Hind, Donald Hiscox, Mary Humphrey, Gayle Hunter, Chas. Hussey, Boris Isaeff, Marjorie James, John Jory, Robert Kayser, Betty Kellam, Anne Kidder, Elizabeth Kimber, Beverley Kirk, Alice Kirniski, Fred Koch, Vivian Kraut, Patricia Lake, Bob Larson, Richard Laughlin, Phillis Lindley, Geraldine Lindsay, Bob Lloyd, Bill Madeira, Lynn Mah, Bill Manning, Elaine McClellan, Esther McCulloch, Rodney McGann, Margaret McLean, Margaret McNab, Nancy Meddaugh, Bill Meinhold, Phyllis Mendenhall, Haiako Mitzuyasu, Frank Mon- ninger, Irene Moran, Claudia Murphy, Jeanne Murray, Theodore Nelson, Bob Nuckolls, Raymond Orth, Jim Parker, Ardeen Parkinson, Mildred Parsons , Ber- nard Pepper, Daryl Price, Mary Purdin, George Rader, David Ramusen, Charles Richardson, Jacqueline Riddle, Norma Jean Rider, Jane Ristenpart, Mary Royce, Kami Sciichi, Irma Selby, Marilyn Sheppard, Shirley Shields, Jack Smith, Virginia Smith, Bob Solinsky, Lois Stewart, Patsy Stinger, Audrey Stout, Mary Jean Stout, Alan Straus, Grace Stribling, Marieta Swain, Vincent Triggs, Vivian Vaughn, Doris Voget, Philip Voorheis, John Whipple, Ethel Wicks, Betty Wiseman, William Woodson, Frank Woodward. HOXOlt SOCIETY OFFICERS Beverly Kirk President Richard Laughlin Vice-President Florence Avelin Representative to the Faculty William Madeira Treasurer Jean Grant . Secretary Rodney McGann L-9 Director William Fay Program Committee

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JIM FARRELL CLAUDIA MURPHY VIRGINIA FRIDAY JOHN BILL FAY O ' DRISCOLL NANCY SCHUYLER BONNIE EVANS BOB LLOYD BILL STREHL U.S.A. OFFICERS President Bernard Pepper Vice-President Jim Farrell Secretary Claudia Murphy Treasurer . . . . Bill Fay Social Secretary Nancy Schuyler Song Leader Bob Lloyd Yell Leader . Howard Hamilton President Girls ' Association Virginia Friday President Boys ' Association John O ' Driscoll Girls ' Athletic Manager . . Bonnie Evans Boys ' Athletic Manager . Bill Strehl HOXOIt SOCIETY MEMBERS Russell Adams, Edith Anderson, Dorothy Angell, David Armstrong, Florence Avelin, June Baker, Jack Ballantine, Gordon Barnes, William Bartley, Charlotte Beckwith, Dick Bercovich, Jeanette Blamy, Barbara Bolen, Lorraine Burkman, Joan Butner, Jean Carmichael, Lawrence Chapman, Carol Coates, Isabel Coxhead, Jeanne Creech, Emmy Lou Cummings, Elizabeth Denton, Don Derbyshire, Peggy Dowling, Edward Dunkum, Dorothy Easson, Bonnie Evans, Robert R. Evans, Robert J. Evans, Jim Farrell, William Fay, Fred Fellows, Dorothy Flagg, Walter Fletcher, Betty Flood, Patsy Forster, Kenneth Foster, Pat Foster, Rosemary Foster, Eileen Gavin, Pat Gaw, George Gentry, Maxine George, Jean Grant, Ralph Guyon,

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The Plav s the Thing A pale faced youth in a threadbare overcoat brushed past the doorman. He seemed out of place in the luxurious surroundings of the hotel lobby. Impatiently, he waited for the elevator. After what seemed a very long time to him the door opened and he strode in. Top floor, he whispered nervously. You mean Mister Lubrosko ' s suite? the operator asked dubiously. The youth nodded. With a half-incredulous glance the operator pressed a button, and they whizzed upward. In a few seconds they abruptly stopped, and the passenger stepped out onto the soft carpet. The elevator door closed noiselessly, and he was alone. Might as well get it over with, he thought resolutely, then entered the recep- tion room. A girl was in one corner at a large desk pecking busily at a clinking typewriter. Is Mr. Lubrosko in? he inquired hesitantly. Have you an appointment? she asked impersonally, but rather sus- piciously, too. Yes, he answered. The name is Smith — John Smith. Oh yes, Mr. Smith, Mr. Lubrosko will see you now. His short hair, which was flaming red in contrast to his almost grey com- plexion, seemed to stand on end as he was ushered into Mr. Lubrosko ' s presence. The distinguished producer of Broadway hits was reclining on a couch. Nearby was an ashtray, overflowing with cigar butts. His short, fat little body seemed lost in the maze of cushions. Good day, sir, the youth started weakly. Then — with dreadful anticipation — Have you . . . decided? Are you Smith? queried the producer, as he lit another cigar. Seeing the youth nod, he looked through a drawer and drew out a manuscript. It ' s not the type I want, he said casually. Sorry. Silently the youth took the sheaf of papers offered him. Thank you, he managed to say, and hurriedly left. In a moment he was out in the street again, tears of disappointment welling in his eyes. It ' s back to-the farm for me, he thought bitterly. Then he looked down at the neatly typed manuscript. John Smith ' s flop, he mused, and tossed it out into the busy street. As he started to walk toward the tenement section where he lodged, a shout rang out above the bedlam all around. He turned, and was startled to see a pudgy figure in shirt-sleeves puffing down the sidewalk amidst the amused stares of pedestrians. Mr. Lubrosko! he cried, in genuine amazement. Smith! I mistook you for someone else! Your play ' s great stuff! Where is it? For answer, the youth turned toward the intersection. In the street was a muddy, tangled, hopelessly scattered and torn bunch of unrecognizable scraps. I threw my play away, he said, sadly, and shrugged his shoulders. Silently he turned, and the crowd was about to swallow him up when the half-paralyzed producer suddenly came to life. A Mona Lisa smile played across his features, and his eyes twi nkled subtly. Wait, Smith, he called. Why prolong the agony? the youth muttered almost inaudibly as he picked his way back to the little man. Yes? he asked simply. I just remembered, the producer beamed with evident relief. I gave you the wrong manuscript. REED STONE, High Eight.