Girls High School - Journal Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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The Journal FLOWER MAN Little girl had crooked teeth, so she had to wear hands, ugly bands, which stretched her small mouth all out of shape and made her lisp when she recited at school. On Fridays she went with her mother to the dentist, who hurt her and afterwards patted her on the shoulder and said all in one breath, The-teeth-are-coming-along- fine-see-you-next-week.” Yet in spite of the dreaded visits to the dentist and the dreary rides in the street car. Little Girl was happy when Friday came ... all because of Old Man. She used to walk down the street from the dentist’s building to the big market where her mother ordered things to eat. She would see Old Man outside and the flower stand with all the bright flowers. Old Man wore a black felt hat, which was too large for his head, a red spotted shawl, and a poorly fitted gray suit; and only a worn pair of fisherman’s boots kept the cold from his feet. Little Girl never noticed Old Man’s clothes. She remembered only how kind his black eyes were and the gentle way his wrinkled face lighted up when she smiled at him. She knew Old Man loved her. They had been friends for a long time. Maybe it was twenty Fridays ago that Little Girl had cried, standing near the Flower Man, because her awful bands hurt her. Old Man called her to him, took her small, thin hand in his old withered one, and gave her a bouquet of faded, red roses. Ever since that day, a large part of Little Girl’s heart belonged to Old Man. Each night after her prayers, Little Girl said, God bless Old Man.” She often dreamed of him, heard him talking to her, saying her teeth would be straight and even soon. She kept all the roses in a yellow paper box with her most cherished possessions and put them in her own dresser drawer. But today there was no Old Man. The flower stand was changed, and a tall man with a cross face was in his place. Little Girl was bewildered for a moment. She asked where Old Man was. Oh, he died.” Little Girl choked her sobs back. That night Little Girl couldn’t eat her supper. She went to her room and took out the yellow paper box and gently fingered the crumpled red roses and cried, Oh, God bless Old Man.” Jeanette Gormley, December ’28. [ twenty-seven ]

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The y o u R N A L GOD AND HE UNDERSTOOD He shivered. Cold and hunger were bad enough, but loneliness was worse. With his hands pressed to his empty stomach, and his coat collar turned up, he wan- dered into the place. He loved to go in and finger the dear old things. How he wished he could buy back his own! But he had just a pound, and that would have to go the next day. In a corner of the place, surrounded by various things, lay two or three violins rather battered looking. But one of them! One—why, you could tell in an instant it was a Strad. A beautiful thing! Lovely to look upon, and—how he wished he might play on it! The man sauntered up. Like to try ’em? I don’t suppose they’re very good, though.” Here take this pound, and lend me this one over night,” was all he said. Retain- ing his dignity only until he had left the place, he carried the lovely thing home. Each block seemed a mile, and he walked as if in a dream. His mind and heart went flying ahead while his poor body struggled with distance. At last he arrived. In a moment he was looking at that beautiful Stradivarius—and then picking it up. For fifteen minutes he stood tuning, tuning. When every string was at perfection, he locked the door and began. He had played on Strads before, even the Betts- Strad;” but this one surpassed them all. The notes flowed out, round, sweet bubbles of perfection; and in his heart, he felt and heard the soul of a wonderful instrument. He was in another world and played to another world. Played what only he and God understood. It was not Beethoven that he played, nor Bach, Brahms, or Debussy. It was he, the real man. Not the man you could see and touch, but the naked man. In those hours that he played, he came face to face with the Almighty, walked with Him in the Path of Wisdom, and understood. The soul of the violin had led the soul of the man to Truth; and when he learned, he, or rather the man you could see and touch, sank to the floor in a crumpled heap. At the door had been standing the living. He knocked great, rough knocks, but only silence answered. More knocks. More silence. Knocks increasing to poundings. Let me in!” More silence. And a heavy shoulder brought down the door with a crash. A gasp. A sigh. And the living walked over to the dead. H’m! Looks like a Strad! Yes! And he was as poor as a church mouse.” He picked up the instrument, and started to play. At the first stroke of the bow, he was astonished; for the sound was not the same that he had heard.The violin was good—had nice tone—had no wolves.” But where, where, had gone the beautiful spirit of the instrument? The sympathetic beauty, and the understanding soul of the Strad had left the thing that you could see and touch, and gone with the sympathetic beauty and the understanding soul of the man. [ twenty-six ] Elisabeth Larsh, December ’27.

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The Journal THE LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN GATE Far beyond the azure dome of the earth, lies a beautiful City with Gates of Gold. It is called the City of Contentment. Just outside the Golden Gate is a garden with fragrant flowers and sparkling fountains. It is the Garden of Love. Here the Baby Angels play all the day, laughing and singing, for they have no sorrow to cast a shadow on their happiness. But every evening, when the Light of Earth fades, the Angels must pass into the City; for only within the City of Contentment is there Eternal Light. And as the sun disappears beneath the Waters of the Western Sea, the Gates close; and only those within the City can see them. One day, the littlest Angel, called Star Flower, wandered too far from the Golden Gate and was left outside. He wandered through the Garden calling to the Keeper of the Gates, Let me in, for I am weary, and I know not where to go.” But the Keeper of the Gates heard him not, and presently the Gates disappeared. Little Star Flower was left alone. All through the night Star Flower wandered, until, in the darkness, he left the Garden of Love, not knowing that he had done so. When the first streaks of dawn appeared in the Eastern Sky, Star Flower waited eagerly for the Gates to open, but alas, the Golden Gates did not appear! Little Star Flower knew that he was lost. Star Flower’s heart was very heavy as he wandered on and on, seeking the Gates of Gold. Presently he came to a little bird. Oh, Blue Bird,” cried Star Flower, have you seen two gates of shining gold? I am Star Flower, and I am lost. I cannot find my way to the City of Contentment.” Oh, Star Flower,” sang the Blue Bird, I have my nest between two tall sun flowers. They are golden when the sun shines upon them. Perhaps they are the gates that you seek.” No, little bird,” said Star Flower sadly, they are not my gates. My gates are tall and shining, and sparkling diamonds are scattered here and there. A beautiful blue arch is over them, and garlands of flowers are twined around the sides.” So little Star Flower wandered on and on, and soon he came to a gray squirrel with a long bushy tail. Oh, Gray Squirrel,” said Star Flower, have you seen two gates of shining gold?” Oh, Angel,” chattered Gray Squirrel, I have my home in a tall tree between two branches of golden brown. Perhaps they are the gates which you seek.” Star Flower sadly shook his head. No, they are not my gates. I must go on.” [ twenty-eight ]