McKinley Junior High School - Purple and Gold Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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YYYTTYYY1 I-:YY'fiY,:i.Y Achilles Modernized Although our family has undergone many amusing incidents which we. like to recount, -there is one, that never fails to atlord us a good laugh. When we lived in the country, there was a bee hive in a deserted pasture near our house. Every spring my father made an expedition to the hive and raided the store of honey which it contai-ned. One morning, he was made ready for his annual assault. He was dressed in some old mechanic jumpers tied,at the sleeves and trouser legs, gloves, and high topped shoes. On his head was an old straw hat over which he had throw-n some mosquito netting to protect his face. As you have probably guessed, he was dressed strictly for pro- tection against the bees, and not for appearance. He presented a comical sight as he strode across the field, swinging a kettle on his arm. The rest oil the family stayed at a safe distance from the tield of battle, but where we could watch the fun. We saw my father reach his hand confidently into the box and bring it out with a huge comb of honey. While the angry bees swarmed around him, vainly striving to find an unprotected spot, he. again i-n- serted his hand. As he was about to withdraw it for the second time, he let forth a loud yell, and, dropping his kettle of honey, made several flying leaus toward us. When he had reached a safe distance from the hive and we had suc- ceeded in calming him down sufiiciently, we found that one of the bees had stung him squarely on his Hpet corn. Like Achilles of old, he had but one protected spot on his person, fbut his was on his corn instead of on his heel,J as he had cut a hole in his shoe to relieve the pain caused by the corn. The bees had, of course, chosen just that spot to sting. But It's an ill wind that blows good, as thee saying goes-Father's corn was cured!-Dorothy Nace. MY MISHAP P O E M IBY Annie Palll. B3-J CC arl Hoertig, 138.1 Once, as I was cutting down a fine On being caught with a rabbit's tail big tree, in my hand, I was requested to write The axe, it slipped and hit my knee: this poem: Then home I went as fast as I could A ra.bbit's tail have I here trot, With which I tickled George's ear. To think that such a mishap should He thinks it is a great big fly, fall to my lot! He makes me laugh until I cry. MV Tllothel' gOt ready With 21 great big And then the teacher takes a. spy patch, And sees me imitating the ily: I removed my St0CkiT1g-- She makes me write this little poem And-there was a tiny Scratch! Before she allows me to go home.- L,L.lLlLll..L.1cilllLLLYLLLLJJ

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LLL lT'Y'TYTTYYY1fX?ifYT'i'Yf'FAW,Yfl Elsie's Fire Department A tire was a rare event in the small town of Elsie, Nlichigan. Prob- ably that was because there were so few places there to burn. The town' had only a small number of stores, but quite enough to serve the 500 inhabitants. However, a station had lately made its appear- a-nce by the railroad track, and one train actually condescended to stop there for awhile if it was not in any particular hurry. It was is no particular hurry one sultry afternoon in August, and it stopped-but that is not what l wished to tell you. The train was just rolling lazily out of the station of Elsie, whe-n the news was broadcast, Fire! Fire! in the new depot! Elsie wrung its hands in consternation and called upon its fire de- partment fwhich co-nsisted of one stationj for help. There were no firemen, only volunteers from the town, and the firehouse was locked. A Mr. Travers had charge of the key, which, by the way, had grown rusty with disuse, but upon inquiry it was learned that Nlr. Travers had gone away for the day. After a frantic, but vain, search for the key to the fire-house, the men succeeded in breaking down the door with an axe. 'Some of the men jumped up the'Gre-engine, but it refused to budge an inch. After many frenzied efforts to start the machine, some one discov- ered that there was no gas in the tank. I-lavi-ng no service station near by, some of the men ran to their homes and drained the tanks of their various cars in order to scrape together enough for the engine. Finally, the five-engine was ready to go, and it tore down the street, making more noise than progress. The depot, or rather the remains of the depot, were reached eventually, just in time for the men to see the last flames flickering out. This all happened many' years ago, and another depot now stands in the place of the unfortunate one, and a more efficient Ere-depart ment answers calls of fire with much more haste and effect than did the one on that lazy afternoon.-Maxine Leonard, A9. L 1 L All lml LTITL L L1 LE1 L1 L