Richmond High School - Shield Yearbook (Richmond, CA)

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With tireless efforts, he cautiously sawed off slice after slice until the top fitted. This was then tightly, if not neatly, hammered into place between the four legs which projected upward like the legs of an over-turned chair. Johnny then stood off at a distance and surveyed his handiwork. Gee, it sure looked pretty good. (Guess she’d sure like that, all right. Why, if he could do that good with just those old boards an’ stuff, well, he guessed he’d make a pretty good carpenter. He walked round and round, his pride increasing at every step. ‘True, the lower shelf sloped to such a degree that only a leech or growing moss could have stayed on without slipping; and the legs were sawed in a jagged design resembling claws; and the top shelf shrieked in blue letters, “Crystal White.”’ But this did not detract from its beauty in Johnny’s eyes. Io him, it excelled any piece ever made by Heppelwhite. Now, if he could just find a little paint. Just then the sound of footsteps on the gravel outside the shed attracted his attention. He hastily pushed the fern-stand behind the coal-bin, just in time to see his mother open the door. “What on earth are you doing, John?” she queried, suspiciously. ‘Nothin’. I—I was just lookin’ for somethun? Guess it ain’t here.” He strolled out the door and went into the house, his heart beating so fast that the beats seemed to merge. He waited breathlessly behind the screen door to ascertain the actions of his mother. Very soon he heard the sound of chopping. Presently his mother emerged and Johnny. beat a hasty retreat to the parlor. After a few minutes, he returned to the kitchen on the pretext of getting a drink. He’s eyes wandered to the wood-box. He gulped and nearly choked. In the wood box were four sticks of kindling, very round in shape, that appeared as if they might have been parts of a rake handle. Beside these were two boards, broad and flat, that had once functioned as the ends of a Crystal White soap box. —Helen Carpenter ’24. Futility With aching head And eye-lids, red, I’ve sat through weary hours. With main and might, I’ve tried to write Of birds or bees or flowers. I’ve racked my brain, But all in vain ‘To write some words in rhyme Of trees and brooks And shady nooks Or Nature’s charms, divine. Twenty-eight Blue and. Red

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They wish for just a little more Of high school fun, But Life holds out the open door And they must come! And so the Seniors say, “Farewell,” ‘To go in quest Of all the beauteous things of life, To find the best. And to their many friends they wish, This message sent, That they are grateful for the help So kindly lent. —Katherine Hutchison ’24. Mom ’s Birthday Present y Johnny looked at the calendar. Day-after-tomorrow was mom’s birthday. Gee, it was a pretty good thing he noticed the calendar or maybe he would ’a forgot it. Gee, what could he give her? Qh, yes, she uced to always say she wanted a stand for her fern. Gosh, that ought ’a be easy to make. Why, he’d made something almost as hard when he made those bookends in manual training. Reflecting thus, Johnny walked out to the old shed where was kept his father’s miscellany of tools. This was a typical shed. In one corner stood an old rake and a broken hoe, a shovel with the handle gone, and a discarded wagon that Johnny possessed at the tender age of six. Several boxes, broken and otherwise, were scat- tered everywhere, while on the left side was a coal bin. This old shed would make a swell workshop. Immediately seized with the inspiration of a fern stand, Johnny carefully made a sign on the outside of the door, “Keep Out,” closed it upon himself and began the labor of creating his gift. Hearing the approach of two playmates, he opened the shed door just in time to silence the “Oh John—nay!” that they were about to shout. “Shut up, can’t you?” he demanded crossly, “Don’t make so blame much noice. I can’t come out, so beat it.” His two friends, curious, advanced to ascertain why he could not come out. Whereupon Johnny told them, “Can’t you read?” and shut the door in their faces. Thoroughly rebuffed, the youngsters departed. Johnny now set to work in earnest. The handles of the rake and the hoe would make excellent legs for the stand if they were sawed in half. He carefully sawed each handle into two parts (they could not be called halves). The ends of boxes, he decided, would make perfect squares to form the top and lower chelf. Unfortunately, no tox had two perfect ends, so he was obliged to use one end from each of two boxes. After many thumb-hittings, and much knocking of nails crooked and mufHed “gosh-darn-it’s,’ he hammered the bottom shelf on, only to discover the board for the top was too big. Blue and Red Twenty-seven

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From morn ’till night, I’ve tried to write Of silver drops of dew, Enchanting Spring, Or anything; But, still ’twould not be new! It’s all been told By bards of old Who had it all their way. Old was rhyme Before my time. “So what’s the use,” I say! —Cecil E. Rhodes ’24. The Honor Society Something to strive for, that’s what we need Something to urge us on. The philosopher said, ‘‘Incentive’s the seed From which ambitions come.” By lots of hard work for a glorious goal, Our ambitions we ceek to fulfill, And by steadily striving onward we go “Til we reach the top of the hill. Some say it is hard to work and to learn; It is easy, we know, just to dream. But, after all, life’s only a churn, And the one who works gets the cream. After the churning is done, And the skim-milk’s all thrown away, I’m sure you’ll be glad you’re not one Who did nothing but dream all day. —Norman Silva ’23. Blue and Rea wenty-nine