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

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June, 1927 g ggivkgr g api gf laLVQLgL1FI-. gg g wonderful spirit into Wo1'k's running. ln the next moment the race was over. Yale had won. No wonder the Yale supporters went wild with joy, and paraded the men around the field upon their shoulders. Vllork was made a hero. There was a silence when he raised his arm. UNO, fellows, he began, I didnit win the meet for Yale-it was HARRINGTON l Tiger Spirit MARGARET VVILSON, 301. The tumult of expectant voices, Cheering heroes strong and bold, The happy tiger crowd rejoices On that field of black and gold. VVith banners waving, voices cheering, Our applause the team empowers, The foe retreats, our onslaught fearing - lVe win! The day is ours! Vacation LIJCILLE GALER, 303. Away with your books, away with your pen, ' Summer is here, and vacation again. Off to the mountains, down to the shore, Forgetting all cares and studies of yore. Happy and carefree, gone are our woes, Bask in the sunlight, play or repose, Yachting or swimming, -motoring, too. joyous and gay, the whole day through! A Comparison MILDRED BANKS, 29X. Old-fashioned miss, you're gone today, Another miss now takes your place. Your golden tresses, now shorn away, Were far behind in fashion's race. New-fashioned miss, we love your smile, Another could never take your place. Your hair and dress and sportsmanship Are far ahead in fashion's race. l Page 29 ll

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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

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I II1W1L LIFE-DM T June, 1927 Memoirs of the Nellie Smith MARGARET BAKER, 27x 3' OU look at me and smile. I-low cruel it is that people so often glance only QMQMQ . . . . . . . Jin -f at the outside, and, seeing no pretentious details, no shining paint or polished metalwork, laugh at the sight and pass on. That is the way of 5 l 4 H th ld. V gasp? e wor But even an old hulk like me, who have roamed the seas for forty years, has feelings, though they are numbed with age. I have weathered too many storms to have any regret that soon I will lie in the graveyard of the sea. Many, many years have passed since I first felt water beneath my keel, yet I can never forget my builder's and first captain's kind face as he watched his little daughter Nellie ffor whom I was named? break the bottle on my bow when I was christened. I was .beautiful then. My lines were graceful, and,my decks and sails were white. Captain Smith thought me the finest barque on earth, and I held a place in his heart next to that of his daughter. He treated me well, and never did captain receive better service from a ship than he did from me. With him on the bridge, the heaviest weather had no terrors for vme. Ah, those were happy days in my youth! It was a sad moment for me, you may be sure, when he was washed from his hold on deck one stormy night in the Ray of Biscay. The China Bill , to save whose life he risked his own, was not worth his weight in sea-water 3 yet a mighty man was lost for him. ,That is the Way of Fate to sailors. Now she smiles, and the sea is smooth, now she laughs, and a gale rises to taunt your weakness 5 now she frowns and sweeps a veil across the sky, and the lives of brave men are lost in the dark. After that, I was sold to an Alaska man, who wanted me for the sealing trade. I was Fitted with auxiliary engines, and my clean, smooth lines were broken amid- ships by an ugly deck-house. Those were terrible years in which I was driven through the icy seas of the North. But ice is relentless, and cold wears one to the death. After ten years of service there, I was so worn that I was condemned. The end was not yet. I was sold to a lumberman, and for many years went up and down the Pacific Coast with cargoes of heavy, shifting green lumber4-one of the most heart-breaking loads a ship can know. But even that drudgery is beyond my power now. My seams are sprung, my engine has been dismantled. A relic of an age that has passed forever, I lie in Derelict Row, waiting for the day when even the smallest wave may have strength enough to surmount my dying weakness, and draw me under to thelast haven of ships. I: Page 30 1