Polytechnic High School - Caerulea Yearbook (Long Beach, CA)

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LITERARY 19 m How sweet cwould be ii only she, When masks were snatched from faces, Could look up in his face and sec The spell that Cupid placesl Her ioy was gone, her face was pale, Her feet lagged in their dancing, That one plan of her life. would fail That seemed to her entrancing. Masks off! Her partner pressed her close! She faltzred as she did it; She straightened for the final dose, Unmasked her face, and hid it. The sailor gently raised her head; She trembled through and through! But 10! Their eyes met fast instead For he was crosseyed tooHl When you haven't anything else to do, you might spend your time reading some of the literary selections in Camlea. That's What theft: there for, you know.

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18 CAERULEA '20 For as she strolled her way along She met a handsome sailor. He edged beside her in the throng: She felt her heart wouid fail her. And as he gaily strode beside, They broke in conversation. He knew not what her mask did hide! hOhl Bitter revelationb She glanced up at his handsome. face hFor just his eyes were coverecD And as they ran from place to place , Close by his side she hovered. At last they reached the grand masked ball, The center of attraction, And der her came a dreadful pal! That drove her to distraction. The Witching hour was drawing near When masks should be discarded. Her hour of bliss she'd pay for dear, Her heart beats e'an retarded! Her partner, masked was blithe and gay- He did not sense disasterl He did not fed her cold as clay, Nor pale as alabaster. And then the Witching hour was there. 'hMasks ofil the hali resoundcd. How could she face his startled stare! Her heart within her pounded.

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Leslie Cummins Speaking broadly, there is only about one thing to mar the joy of high school days; that thing is the faculty. It is the one wet blanket on an otherwise glorious life. It's like getting a pink slip when the hunch is out in front waiting to take you to Washington Park to see the ball game. In short, the teachers are to the students, what the First of July was to the members of the royal order of indulgers. I'm not saying there is nothing good about the teachers; in dividually they are almost human at times. That is all but Alexan- der Griggs. I don't suppose you remember him. He looked like the last petal on the last rose of summer, and he had a disposition that would have made a bottle of diluted Bevo look like a real drink. A canary with a broken wing was a bold and ferocious bird. beside him. He knew more history than the person who wrote it, and he could tell you, without a tremor, how Nero once bathed in Roman blood, but rather than to take off his coat where the students could have seen him, he would have iumpecl into the Los Angeles river. Griggs would have made Lord Chesterfield look like Peck's Bad Boy: he was so correct and modest. That was the kind of a knock-iem-dead and drag-'em-out specimen Alex. was. Well, to come back from behind the Store and get down to business, Griggs had one supreme hobby. He believed thoroughly that students should indulge in athletics. but that they should do so with their fingers crossed. It Was the right iciea to play games, but