Joseph Le Conte Middle School - Le Contean Yearbook (Hollywood, CA)

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Spoken by a Fossil I was a little Brachiosaurus only about two hundred and forty feet long. I had a neck that was longer than a giraffe's, a head the size of a rabbit's, and a tail the size of a house. I lived near the falls of the Hudson River. The falls are now covered by the sea. I loved to drink the muddy water of the great river as it went hurtling down the great cliff and on to the sea. The falls were only about nine hundred and thirty feet high. But water was not the only thing that went down the cliff. Now and then some tiny Brontosaur would fall down and be swept off to sea. Every now and then some Tyrannosaurus would playfully make a mouth- ful of my tail, as he clumsily hopped along. Then I would debate with myself whether I should nip him in return, swat him with my tail, or just roll him flatter than a Flounder. After reaching the important decision, I would play tag with him and carry out my desire. I did not eat meat. I browsed on the succulent herbage growing in the nearby swamps. lf I didn't eat meat, the Tyrannosaurus did, and whole droves of them came and played f'Get Your Mealn with me. I was the meal and they were the getters, but fortune was with me and somehow I remained intact except for occasional bites. Oh! How I loved the swamps. They were my birthplace, my mother, my doom and my grave. This was my fate: One lovely hot day when I was eating a sweet-tasting shrub, a drove of Tyrannosaurus came toward me and started to play f'Get Your NIeal. I was sulky, however, and walked off to an island of sand to drowse and bask in the rays of the sun. But I paid dearly for my fit of temper. Suddenly the sand gripped meg I couldn't move. Panic seized me, but the harder I tried the deeper I was mired. Pterodactyles came and started to eat me. A Tyrannosaurus came to eat part of me but was gripped by the treacherous sand. Down, down, down we sank until we were completely lost in the depths of the island. lVIany millions of years later I again saw the light, but it was colder, and strange things that hopped on two legs and had no tails and strange skins were standing by me. They had queer claws and made strange noises. I noticed that they were able to remove their claws at will. I was terror-stricken as they reached toward me. I remember nothing for a while until some queer-looking beings called scientists took my bones falas, to my shame, I had nothing elsej and mounted them in a large hall where there were the bones of my cousins. lVIore funny creatures came to look at me and made more strange noises. Oh! how I long for the swamps of my childhood! Woooizow BORAH. f 107 J

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The Greatest Fish Story of All It was a beautiful day-that is, beautiful for fishingfcloudy, and with a slight breeze. After three hours of impatient waiting, I pulled in the finest speckled trout I've ever seen, a beauty, fully fifteen inches long. I have often wondered who was really more excited, myself or the fish. As I looked at the poor thing, I suddenly thought of a novel idea. VVhy kill it? Would it not be nicer to have it as a pet? I started to fondle it and suddenly realized that if I didn't put it back into water again it would die. I hurried home ffortunately I lived near byj and filled a tub with water. How eagerly my pet swam around its new quarters. I am sure it was happy. Then started a faithful training course. In one week Freckles fmy petls Christian namej was able to remain out of water a whole hour. In a month's time it lived out of water a half day. ,lust at about this period it started to follow me around, especially when I called it by its name. This seemed almost impossible. People from all over the country came to see my Freckles. Museuins from all over the world offered me fabulous sums, if I would only sell it. But I refused everybody. My pet was more precious to me than money-especially since now the old wash tub was a thing of the past. My fish lived entirely out of water. Really, my joy knew no bounds! But all good things must end, but I shall never forget the day when I was going to visit my auntie who lived across the river. We had to cross over a bridge. I say we because by now my pet never left me for an instant, and was able to keep pace with me by a peculiar hop which it had developed. Some careless workmen, who were replacing some planks, left an open space in the bridge, and as we were crossing, my poor little fish fell through the hole. VVith tears in my eyes and terror in my heart I saw my pet struggling in the water, but before help could be obtained, it was drowned! OLIVE LEVY, A7. Who Am I P Yesterday was blue Monday, for my brothers and my sisters and I were used very cruelly. Some people call me a red slip of paper, but I have as much feeling as anyone. hly family and I live in lVIrs. Dalyls desk, but some of my relatives live in Nfiss Mitchell's or bliss Seymour's desk. Oh there! I'm getting off my story. Well, anyway, yesterday a lot of girls came stringing into the office. lylrs. Daly took us out and let them scribble all over us. Some wrote 'fUnclean Nliddiesu and some wrote No Stockings and all sorts of things. Then they went trailing out again and lVIrs. Daly threw us into the desk, and I guess we will stay here until the end of the term. Now do you know what I am? You don'tl Well, I'll tell you. I am a demerit slip. MARGARET BRUNDAGE, A7. L 106 1

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The Village Blacksmith H925 Modelj Under an ad for gasoline, The village smithy stands, He's agent for the Jinx machine. And several other brands. He hasn't shod a horse for years. For fear he'd soil his hands. He wears a gold watch on his wrist, A pearl pin in his tieg His links are made of amethyst. The finest he could buy. There's not a thing the smithy wears, That doesn't please the eye. VVeek in, week out, from morn till night, He sees the autos come, With brakes that are not working right, And axles on the bumg With gas, repairs, and grease and oil, He makes a tidy sum. He has a staff of skillful men, That number twenty-four, Who toil from 6 a. m. till 10, And sometimes even more. The smithy never docs a stroke. He thinks that work's a bore. He goes on Sunday to the kirk, His mind quite free from cares. Because his men are hard at work, On punctures and repairs, And if the Weatherys fine and warm, The smith says grateful prayers. Oiling, refilling, repairing, Onward through life he goes, And never once despairing, As long as his income grows, Each night the thought of some one done Augments his sweet repose. BETTY MACKAY, B9 f ws J