Lowell High School - Red and White Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

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Tagelz The LOWELL Big Jim's trembling fingers placed the bottle in the hands of a young man behind the window. He looked at the stuff and his eyes twinkled. He asked a few questions and put the bottle on the counter. Sorry, boys, he said, but this stuff here isnit gold. It may look like it, but it isn't. Ever heard of Fool's Gold? No P Well, it's a mixture of sulphur and iron found practically everywhere in the world. Thatis what this is. 'KHonest P Honest 'tAin't it worth nothin'? VVell, about Ioc a ton, said the man, laughing. Little Husky led Big Jim away. Half stupeiied, they reached the sidewalk. Fool's gold. You heerd 'im ? Little Husky demanded, fighting mad. But jim was beginning to see clearer. His dismay left him and he laughed foolishly. Huh! Fool's Gold! That's us, Mart! VVe been fooled all right. Let's get back to the 'Billie Burke' for chow. We was millionaires for two Weeks, and it didn't get us nothin', but it was swell to think about! Didn,t get us nothin? asked Mart, 'gainit we in all the swag We won from that crew of highbinders P -Gordon Cole. San Francisco Ferry A motley, varied mass, Each race, each creed, each class, In seething crowd moves through thy portals grey, Life's humor and her wit With tragedy are knit As in and out Life moves in one short day. What color for the eye, What sights to bring a sigh In this great tapestry are rashly wove! There hooded poverty And Mammon's devotee Walk unaware of any brother love. And yet, glance here and see If misery could be- Bright talk, fair girls and brilliant flowers bloomg The Hulfy sweet of Life is here- Gladness, bright hope, good cheer, Here underneath this portal's greyish gloom.

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for june 1922 Tdefll added seriously, see that, and that, and that, and he pointed to a number of yellow sparkling flakes in the sand. Why it's- Then Martin Hanks fell upon his knees and gasped incredulously. UW-what? G-gold? By golly! You bet your sweet life it's gold! They embraced. They danced. They howled. They stopped and looked again and forgot to curse, for joy. Big jim's slower wits settled first, and he unpacked from Betsy's load an old tin basin and carried it until they came to another stream and tried to wash out the stuff. Neither of the men had seen much gold in all their lives, but they succeeded, after three hard weeks of washing, in getting enough of the precious stuff together to fill half a whiskey flask full of their wonder- ful find. That night they talked things over. Day after tomorrow me an' you hits for the bay and the 'Bill Burkef Wot ll We do-with the salvage ? demanded Jim. P- Take the stuff to the Mint and get it changed, replied the other. They both sat and smoked for a long time and each dreamed his dream of riches. Finally, Grimes said: A You know, Mart, I heerd once, that up in Alasky, when a boy finds some gold on a place he claims it, or somethin'g anyway it becomes his'n. Why couldn't we do that F Mart Hanks was silent for a moment. -lumpin' Jellyfish! he cried, that's where you hit me 'tween the eyes with an idee. We'll claim that stream bed as our'n and sell chunks of it to our mateysf' Mart, said Big jim, gravely, I takes back all I ever had agin' you. An', ef I remember right, the 'Bill Burke' won't be touchin' in 'Frisco for fourteen days. Two weeks later they arrived in San Francisco, weary and exhausted, but happy in the acquisition of long-dreamed-of wealth. They had tramped all the way there, the conductor on the train being unable to accept anything but the currency of the realm. Two hours after they crossed on the ferry, their feet touched the deck of the Bill Burke. That night, in the forecastle, the heroes of the ship recounted their ad- ventures for the tenth time, until every man in the crew planned desertion. They gambled the shirts off their backs for the flask, and, finally, when they turned in, Mart sneaked out on deck, tied a rope to it, and let the precious bottle hang overboard to prevent its being stolen. Next morning they swaggered down the gang plank like turkeycocks under the envious eyes of the rest of the crew, swaggered across the Embarcadero, swaggered to a car, and swaggered up to the Mint, the precious bottle in Big jim's possession. It seemed ages before they stood before the little barred window, their Golden Gate to the calm harbor of Prosperity.

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for June 1922 Tageig But there at yonder gate, A victim of cruel Fate, A cripple sits-one blind and deaf and dumb. How horrible a sight, How pitiful the plight Of him who seeks to live by selling gum! Grey walls, 'tis Life-think not To change men's Fate or lot Sad though the drama be beneath thy grey! Be as thelsphinx and smile As Life's great rank and file Move through thy portals every day. -Florence L. Wilson. The Arrival of the Fishing Boats IN MY YOUNG DAYS, when the roving fisher boats chugged into the little cove to set their nets for fish, brother and I used to spend most of our time on the bay. At that time, we knew every broad-beam gray launch that rounded Green Point, a mile away, and at the same time knew most of the fishermen who owned them. We would wait until the coughing engine was silent and the anchor was cast. Then, being anxious to pay a visit to the swarthy-visaged men with heavy, grizzled beards and rough red hands, we would hoist the sail of our tiny, round-bottomed skiff and, using an oar for a rudder, skim out across the ruffled surface of the bay. They always made us welcome in their strange and guttural tongues, for we took them apples from the orchard and sometimes a glass of sugar and a loaf of home-made bread. In exchange for these they gave us curious souvenirs of their travels, dried star-fish of great size. The boat we knew best was called Santa Cruz, which the neighboring towns called Biray. The two fishermen, its owners, dark, powerful men, anchored just beyond our float in the smelt and fishing season, and we were fond of them. Sometimes they let us help them haul in the nets, and more than once brother and I have stood in huge hip boots many sizes too large for us, tugging at Wet ropes heavy with seaweed, excitedly pulling at the drag net and watching for the first glint of splashing silver in the brown meshes which would tell us that the net was nearly to the beach and filled with fish. We were always sorry to see the Santa Cruz leave us, and it was always a day of rejoicing when we sighted the little gray boat chugging around the point, its bow and stern piled high with seine and drag nets. ' -Iustino Villasefwr.