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

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- June, 1927 I in L1W1L I A Dog's Life J. MCCAULEY. Ga! Nm AM nothing but a common fox-terrier. Like others of my kind I am fs -ff. forced to work my paws to the bone in order to insure myself a liveli- hood. I work, let me tell you, sometimes a goodly twelve hours a day fa ,C without overtime pay. I travel about the country, with the rest of my dog raglan friends, playing at the various vaudeville theatres. I am known by the name of Prince and am quite a handsome animal, if I do say so myself. I have soft fur, white spotted with brown, and beautiful long ears that are the envy of my companions. There are twenty-live of us in the team and each has his special act to perform. I have been at this job for seven months now and have advanced rapidly. I was first discovered by my manager in an advertisement for dog biscuits in a prominent magazine. I have hopes, however, of quitting this job and going to Hollywood, where I'll show some of those so-called dog stars how to act, even if I am not one of those sophisticated German Police dogs.. There goes the bell which always rings five minutes before curtain time, and I haven't put my ewelled collar on yet. I want to appear especially attractive today, for who knows but that a certain manager may be in the audience. Here comes the rest of the gang, so I'll have to run to my place. The music starts, and Bubbles, that stuck up , bushy-tailed, dull-eyed, wire- haired terrier, comes out to put on her act. Look at the way she struts out, trying to keep time with the music. I hope she trips! She thinks everyone ought to kiss the ground on which she walks, just because her twin brother belongs to old man Rockefeller. I can trace my ancesters back to the reign of Terror! Listen how the people applaud. Ah, at last my chance arrives. The first thing I have to do is to sing the scale. Here I go, --I might have known that I would start on the wrong key, but I'll have to make the best of it. Listen to that unappreciative audience laugh. That man in the box seat is getting his money's worth. He has his mouth opened so wide that I can almost see what he had for lunch. I honestly believe that we dogs have more grey matter than those furless animals who class themselves as human beings. Well, here I am on the last note and I'll make it as loud as I can - ouch, I knew it, I bit my tongue as usual, and just on the day that we're going to have spare ribs for dinner. That was a good song, I know, even if the people don't thinks so. I have a good voice of which I am justly' proud, and have won the title of the Dog Caruso among my friends. Some day I may be able to play in light opera, who knows? Now I have to do my juggling act. I have to stand on my hind legs and balance a big red and white ball on my nose and at the same time walk across the stage. Here I go, -1 I do wish that squeaky orchestra would play something else besides Hearts and Flowers every time I do this act. Crash! VVho put that banana peeling on the stage? See how the people are laughing. They thought my fall was part of the act. Here comes the boss. He gives me a compliment and tells me to keep up the good work. VVell, goodabye until tomorrow. f Page 271

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- I-- if 1927 landed upon. A short expedition showed it to be utterly barren. I did find a dead fish that served me as food fora few days. I was greatly chagrined to find there were no fresh water springs, only a few stagnant pools of water were left from the last rains. Not knowing how long I might be forced to remain there, I immediately set about building a pool to catch and hold water during the next rain. I scarcely had the site marked out whenldarkness overtook me, so I was forced to discontinue my work until the next day. That night was a miserable one. I slept in a little hole under a large rock. It was damp and cold. The following morning I decided that I would improve my lodging at the first opportunityfbut my water supply came first. Later, while I was working on my little reservoir, I saw a band of seals on the near end of the island. I grabbed my faithful oar and ran amongst them, killing and stunning over a hundred before I stopped to survey my work. My intention had not been to kill so many, but my desire for meat was so great I killed wildly. I skinned them and used the furs to line my den.. The meat I laid on the rocks to dry. There was a quantity of salt on the rocks which made a fair preservative when rubbed into the meat. I now had meat aplenty but my water was nearly gone. But luck was again with me, as it rained before the situation became urgent. I had now finished my Waterhole and fit held enough water to last me until the next rain. , I found the seals came there regularly, so my supply of meat was assured. A diet of seal meat was quite monotonous, so different shellfish, which were very abundant on my island, made an agreeable change. Several months passed in these various occupations. I had very little time to be lonely. The question of food and drink engaged my hands and mind continually. During this period I kept a careful lookout for passing vessels. Once I did see a ship pass at a distance, but, not having any way to signal it, I was forced to see it sail over the horizon and out of sight. It did give me hope, however, for it proved that ships did come by. The problem was how to attract' them when they did come near.. There were great piles of dried seaweed on the island, so, preparing for the future, I made a huge bonfire on the highest point of the island to serve as a beacon. From a piece of driftwood and a strip of seal skin, I made a crude instrument to start my beacon blazing, using fire by friction as my principle. Now that I was prepared for any passing ship, to my great disappointment no ship came. Finally, after months of dreary waiting, the Whaler Genoa passed by. I lit my beacon to attract attention and to my joy I saw them lower a whaleboat. ,My signal had been successful! I was saved! XVith my trusty paddle to aid me, I swam out to the incoming boat and there told my story. Safe on board the Genoa, I was given clean clothes and Christian food by the sympathetic and marveling crew. ' After an uneventful voyage, I arrived in my old home town none the worse for my adventures on a desert island. I: Page 26 I

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- LLWJQQ.q..H,-.f,.---.E.f-f.nn- . TJMZQL The Winner of the Race STANLEY KLOPSTOCK, ZSX. ' ' msg N a bleak, cold athletic field, on which the sun was already setting, a bitterly fought track-meet between Yale and Harvard was taking place. Huddled in little groups, each college hoped fervently that its men would win-for there was a tied score and this last relay would decide the t meet. The set expression of the runners showed they meant to win or die in the attempt. Work, the famous runner for Yale and last man in the relay, was urging his team-mates on. We've got to win, fellows, he was saying rapidly, we've got to win - and there's only one way we can do it -- Fight ! A shrill cry telling the rooters of the final relay brought excitement to the mob, but only dread to Bruce Harrington, third runner. of the relay. He had always been rather cowardly, and already an icy sensation was creeping up his back. Suppose I should lose the race for Yale ! was the thought uppermost in his mind. Here was his one Big Chance - would he make good? Of course, no one would know he had been a failure if he did lose. How could they tell? Yet an insistent small voice kept calling, Yes, but you would know that you're a coward, you couldn't look your team-mates in the eye. Forget your dreadg you're a Yale man, and for once in your life-FIGHT!! Bruce Harrington never felt the burden of responsibility so heavy on his shoulders as he did then. The runners were lining up, while the rooters implored them on to victory. Harrington hurried to his place, still fighting the mental battle that would make him or break him. Get on your marks - Get set - GO ! ! and the white clad figures were off, each fighting for his Alma Mater. Bruce, waiting with straining muscles, thought the second runner would never reach him. Already Yale was losing ground. 'fCould I make up that lost ground for Yale? Hashed through Harrington's brain. He forgot his despair, himself, everything but the race. For the first time in his life, Bruce Harrington's fighting blood was up - at last a Man's Man! On came Harvard, a faint triumphant smile on the winning runner's face. How Bruce hated that smile! And then the Yale man reached him and he was off like a shot. He saw the Harvard man tearing along as if he never would lose an inch of lead. Bruce saw him falter, hardly noticeably, but that little was a gift of Heaven to the fighting Yale man. ' It was then that Yale started gaining, slowly, inch by inch, yet remorselessly as Fate - lighting to overcome that ten-yard lead. The Yale rooters went mad. Come on, Yale! Fight it out-keep it up, Harrington ! rang out their joyful cries. And Yale was winning. Bruce was tied with the Harvard runner, then Yale led - and when Yale's last man, Work, took the baton he was three yards ahead. Try as Harvard might, Yale kept up' the lead, for Harrington's game fight had put I: Page 28 :I