San Bernardino High School - Tyro Yearbook (San Bernardino, CA)

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y J ' lfl:!. ' a asses All students in our S. B. High Are nuorking for the common good; There is no shirking, getting by On other ' s toil, that ' s understood. We have the highest, noblest aims Achieve the honorable in all; By every ivord and act proclaim Our loyalty to S. B. ' s call. In after years on other shores We ' ll honor San Ber ' dino ' s name: Lift high her banner in life ' s i£jars. And by our deeds increase her fame. By W. R. M. TYRO

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Miss Anna Lee Doran, Alumni Editor, Tyro Annual, San Bernardino, California. My dear Miss Doran: I appreciate the honor you have done me in placing me among the selected few of the alumni whose ideas anent high school days you think worthy to be printed m the Tyro. The one fly in the oinment is my inability to seek out the Tyro editor who refused my work in my far-off school days, so that I might emit a loud, long, triumphant crow! Never before was my work ever solicited by the Tyro; hence, with pleasure I accede to your request. 1 seem to be able to recall a solid box-like red brick building sturdily present- ing an academic facade to the rising sun of knowledge at the corner of E and 8th streets. There was a cement foundation to the south, handy for trystings, and where we frequently exposed our pompadours and high collars to the ruthlessness of the camera, which successfully nipped all subsequent lying in the bud. And there were broad steps in front where the usual flirtations (the only form of education; I understand, which has never gone out of fashion) frankly took place. Always having been extremely short on statistics, I can ' t say definitely, but probably the entire school at that time would scarcely equal in number your gradu- ating class. Very likely, inspiration subconsciously was sinking in, but I had no conscious awareness of being particularly inspired by anything or anybody whilst passing through this phase of my experience, unless it was by a certain man for whom I had conceived a violent passion, a man called Will Shakespeare. School was pretty much of a chore to be got through with as little effort as possible. There are more or less vivid remembrances of a secret society which caused me as much excitement, mortal anguish, and illuminating introduction into human nature as anything since encountered in life. I also have more or less distinct recollections of schoolmates, many of whom I ' m proud to state I can still claim as friends; and of teachers, some of whom have passed on to better schools, perhaps, than any we possess in this world. At that time we were fortunate in having for a principal an old-school gentle- man and scholar who instilled something into us besides book knowledge, and before whose memory I lovingly bow the head. There was an English teacher who certainly has never been surpassed in ability to influence her pupils with a high enthusiasm for the delights and usages of the English tongue; and a Latin teacher who made declensions fascinating and awakened in me, at least, a passion- ate desire to investigate Dido ' s amours. I also recall, still with palpitations, a godlike masculine being who in my Freshman days was as charming a study hall policeman as was ever tormented by a bunch of heartless young monkeys. Of course, I shall never forget the night of my graduation; partly because I was selected as one of four to declaim an original essay which I called Two Queens, (Lady Macbeth and Penelope of Ithaca) and Dido would also have been included, since I had such a crush on her, had not the powers that were, deemed her an improper lady, and partly because I was convinced that this was the happiest night of my life. And finally from the haze of memory, the Tyro emerges refulgent. For it was the Tyro — then a literary monthly — which started my writing career. It was a Tyro editor who, judging my stories to be unworthy of the high literary stand- ards of the paper, refused to publish them, and who finally did so only under the broadside and overwhelming verbal bombardment of the aforementioned English teacher. Do you wonder I was partial to her? The Tyro! The first to refuse to print my work. Long may it hve! As for giving you a message. My dear young lady, I wouldn ' t dare. Is it not rather for the graduating class of 1929 to give a message to us of the early part of the century? With every good wish to you and your classmates, I am. Cordially yours, PAULINE STILES. TYRO

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CLASSES — T?Q7