Lick Wilmerding High School - Commencement Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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CTMHEQZ if T L f wif Lfifi J From that time on, Rod .saw that the Captain kept an eye on him wherever he was working, and was always ready to find the slightest fault in his work. For the first two weeks Rod had trouble with sunburn and blisters, and lost several pounds in weight. Then he began to tang his hands hardened, and he looked forward to every meal. On the return trip, the Charles Collier early encountered advance signs of a storm. All hatches were closed and battened down, and everything movable was secured. The storm broke about one o'clock in the morning, during Rod's watch on deck. The ship's bow was kept straight into the head of the wind by double! steersmen. All hands were warned to be ready for emergencies. VVhen Rod went off duty, he decided to go below and try to sleep for a little while. He passed Captain Yardley, who was taking advantage of a slight and momentary lull to try to get to the vvheelhouse. Part of the wireless antenna broke loose from the mast. Rod tried to cry out a warning, but a piece of the cross-staff struck the captain just behind the ear, and he fell. The ship lurched. A great comber curled over the side and swept everything loose before it. Rod was hurled down on the deck. He clutched frantically at the railing, but was unable to get a hold on it. As the water carried him over the side, he caught aglimpse of the unconscious captain being swept over, too. He struggled toward him. They came together in the trough of a wave and Rod secured a hold on the captain's coat. No one had seen the accident, and every time Rod tried to raise his voice to call for help, he received a gulping mouthful of salt water. The captain was beginning to regain consciousness, and was instinctively struggling against Rod's grasp. For the first time since the comber had washed him overboard, Rod felt fear of what might soon be his fate. The old pictures of his unclels battle against death came to his mind, and he cried out desperately. Captain Yardley threw his arm around Rod's neck and pulled him down. Rod struggled violently against the drowning man's grip and succeeded in freeing him- self from it. He was numb with cold and was becoming dizzy, but he could not let the helpless captain drown on the. chance of saving himself. He trod water ener- getically and tried to locate the ship. I ' Rod was rapidly becoming exhausted, and the extra load that he was sustaining made it all the harder for him to keep up. For a brief instant he remembered the pride that was in his father's face whenever he spoke of Captain Charles Harvey. Rod realized then what it would mean to his father to have a son who could and would fight. With new strength he struck out toward the Charles Collier. Pres- ently he heard a shout. One of the ship's lifeboats was bearing down on him. The nenit thing he knew was a feeling that something hard and gritty was tearing his chest apart. He opened his eyes, and found himself lying on the bottom of the boat, being rubbed and pounded briskly to bring him back to consciousness. Rod, forgetting his pain, smiled and sighed feebly in deep relief. He had fought and conquered his fear of deep water. f Page 171

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iLfW1L LIFEWYW , gg C Chnl, 19221- Deep Water I. MCDONALD, 29x. C D OD HARVEY was not exactly afraid of the water, but he was never the 15:4 first to plunge into the tank at Rockliffe High. In fact, the only reason .V- ll G - 'Q V I rg, 39,1 Q? that he swam at all was that his gym course called for it. His father l ' K' 1 wanted him to swim. 35' ii' He was a clean fellow and well liked by his schoolmates. He made good grades in all his studiesg on the field he excelled in football and baseballg and every season found him out for track. Yet in spite of all this, Rod found himself at the end of his seventeenth year unable to conquer his fear of deep water. Perhaps it was because swimming had been forced upon him all his life. Perhaps his unsuspecting father had been the cause when he had taken the three-year-old Rod out into ten feet of water and tried to teach him to swim. 'Perhaps it was developed when, during the war, Rod's uncle, Captain Charles Harvey, had gone down with his ship, locked in his chartroom by doors blocked and jammed with debris resulting from the explosion of a German torpedo inlthe engine-rooms. Rod had lived over in his mind the battle that his uncle must have fought against death. At night sometimes he could almost feel the water rising about him and the lung-bursting pressure slowly crushing out his life. He would become so dizzy that he found himself sweating and gasping for breath. These nightmares were growing less and less frequent, and Rod believed that he was getting over his fear. It was the summer vacation before his senior year that Rod, at his father's wish, shipped on a freighter as an ordinary seaman. XfVhen the trip was first suggested, Rod considered it a joke, but when his father again voiced his desire that his son should love the sea as Captain Harvey had, he agreed to make the voyage. He passed his lifeboat test and was signed on to the Charles C olller, a freighter bound from Seattle to Manila by way of Honolulu. He would be back in time for the beginning of the school term. When he went aboard the Collier, Rod found Captain Yardley to be a member of the modern school of sea captains. He was businesslike and efficient, valuing above all his record for fast trips. On the first night out, Rod thought that he had never known before what home meant. But the next day, after a brief period of loneliness and homesickness, he began to mix with the rest of the crew, with whom he shared the fo'c'sle. He found that they were all experienced seamen, friendly and willing to help him. Rod's hrst task was to scrape and paint an iron pipe railing on the aft deck. The scraping was difficult till he caught the knack of it 3 but with a few words of encouragement and instruction from one of his new friends, he progressed rapidly. Vtlhen he began to paint the railing, it was nearly noon and the sun was very hot. He straightened up to ease his back from the cramped position over the railing, and dropped the brush. Appalled, he saw it land directly upon the august counte- nance of Captain Yardley on the deck below. I: Page 163

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L1W1L Lim 4' I I .1une,1927I Romancing in San Francisco Book Shops JULA SAMUELY, 271. HE romance of San Francisco is stowed away in little nooks and corners that seem to be entirely out of place. They are dingy little old shops, most often second-hand book stores. These are the little byways that the old authors are so fond of describing. To most of us they contain. a certain Eg g fascination and interest that is lacking in alarge commercial establishment. Many a time I have wandered along upper Market Street and looked in a window filled with books so dusty from long standing that I could hardly read their titles. Inside are long rows of tables piled high with books of all sorts and descriptions. The high Walls are covered with closely placed book shelves. On one wall are some old classics looking as if they had had a very interesting history since they left the office of their printer. Among these are books printed as long ago as eighteen hundred, or even in the latter part of the eighteenth century. Their linger marks and torn pages enhance their value, and the notes scribbled in pencil on their margins by some fond owner are doubly interesting. On the next wall are medical and scientific books. Here also many valuable books may be discovered. t l 'Zn wg f'c2tf9l fm 15 Farther out are other types of stores. In these there are sometimes long tables of lurid mystery stories and age-old sensation. Heading these are books on character reading, horoscopes, and all types of star gazing and fortune telling pamphlets. Almanacs, containing dry statistics, are almost tempting, so old and dusty do they look. In a far corner sits the old proprietor of the shop. He is a gray-headed bookworm himself, and enjoys nothing better than gloating over his treasures from above the rims of his spectacles. I do believe that every time he parts with a book he goes through all the agonies of parting with a favorite child. I noticed, how- ever, that his favorites were not the handsome classics or the valuable scientific books, but those on the table which contains the mystery stories. The second-hand book stores, however, are not the only interesting ones. In a little shop on Sutter Street there is a rare book room. Visitors are invited and are shown the precious volumes. I-Iere are found First editions of Thackeray, Dickens, Scott, Keats, and many famous authors. But the most irresistible of them all is a little shop down on Mission Street. I have often thought it an injustice to humanity that the immortal Dickens is not here to make it live. On the window in worn and scratched letters is Written, Rare Books and Old Violins . The old shopkeeper and his cronies sit on disabled stools and revel in the atmosphere of romance created by the rare books. Old Jim plays a fiddle which he fondly believes to be many hundreds of years old. Another old man, ragged, blue-eyed and dreamy, sits fondling a battered copy of Poems of a Sailor . It is at a time like this that one longs to be a painter, an author, or a poet, that he might immortalize these old characters. Even if you have lived your lifetime in San Francisco, you know nothing of the real heart and soul of the city until you have discovered the romance in these dingy, dusty, charming old book shops. f Page 181