South Side High School - Optimist Yearbook (Newark, NJ)

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IKfl THE OPTIMI ST The Scrub By Joseph Harrison It was the beginning of the football season at Cliffsidc High School. All the boys had returned from their vacations, browned and hardy. In a few days practise would begin. They were all preparing for the coming season. While walking aliout the campus, all 1 could hear was the buz-buz of the football team. The veterans were contemplating higher honors, while the scrubs were in high hopes of making the varsity. Scrub, did I say? What a harsh belittling word for one who does so much! My attention had been attracted last season by a lad who was known as Randolph. Tho only a scrub, and small of stature, pale and lean, he seemed to possess a fighting spirit that was unconquer- able. It had been his first year out, and natur- ally new to the game he had received harsh treatment in the scrimmages. But lie never quit. He was coming out this season. Thursday I went down to watch the first prac- tise. Few vacancies had been left on the var- sity, so I recognized most of them, but many changes had appeared in the scrub line-up. There were new faces that would probably dis- appear after a few days of strenuous work. Randolph was in the scrub line-up, still as un- tiring as ever. The next day, as I went down to the field I noticed that the scrubs had greatly reduced in number. Only eighteen remained, Randolph among them. He was playing left end with ap- parently much difficulty. Time after time he had to bear the brunt of the varsity's attack, but he met it with his never say die spirit. I saw no more of Randolph until the week be- fore the Prescott game. Prescott was the tradi- tional enemy of Cliff side. A victory over Pres- cott was a sign of a successful season, therefore the team was being drilled strenuously. The Cliffsidc coach was working his team on a play attacking the left wing of the opponents' line. Play after play. Randolph had to stem the rush of the varsity backficld. What recuperative pow- ers lie possessed! If he faltered once the coach would growl, but when his work was of good order he received no praise. At the final work- out the coach was satisfied that there were no flaws in his offensive. His main threat, the at- tack on the left wing, had been perfected by con- stant drilling. His backficld had received their experience by buffeting Randolph around the gridiron. The scrub's unceasing efforts had per- fectly drilled the varsity how to attack the end. Confident, the team awaited the day of the game. One would have thought the gods were inter- ested in the game, for a more perfect day for football could not be desired. The cheer leaders were performing their antics, exacting deafening cheers from the throngs in the stand. Both teams came out to practise amidst roaring cheers. The captains met and selected their re- spective goals. The teams lined up. A shrill whistle announced the beginning of the game. Prescott’s punter got off a good one. I ut Cliffside's right-half returned it ten yards before he was downed. For the first period the trams marched back and forth, each feeling out the other. With the start of the second quarter, Prescott began to unmask a strong aerial at- tack, but Cliffsidc managed to hold its own, and the half ended with neither team scoring. The second half began with Prescott again forcing the issue. Cliffsidc was evidently tiring but was capable of holding Prescott School scoreless. The fourth period started with Cliffsidc hav- ing possession of the ball on its forty-yard line. Then came the surprise! Instead of just using a straight formation, the Cliffsidc backficld lined up for the attack on the left wing. The Prescott warriors, unprepared for this, were caught nap- ping. and Cliffsidc, marched down the field until it reached Prescott’s ten-yard line. Randolph was watching this performance from the bench. There was an ironic smile on his lips. He had made this march possible, but what reward did he get ? N’o one cheered for him, did they? But Randolph did not seek praise, for he knew in his own heart that he was just as im- portant as any of the eleven men in the game. Two more rushes and Cliffsidc would cross tbr goal-line and the game would l»e won, but who would l c happier than Randolph? He had done his share. No one will know it. but that docs not matter. The scrub never gets any credit, and why should he receive any? He never gets in a game! 14

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THE OPTIMIST | night and the coming storm. Grit waited a few minutes then decided to follow his master. He got up. stretched contentedly and saunt- ered out. As soon as he reached the open he scented something that was familiar to him. It was the man- smell again hut this time the old one. He stopped and waited. Suddenly he heard sounds of a sc u flic coming from the cache. He hounded forward and reached there just in time to sec Tom get knocked over with the butt end of a revolver. Imme- diately his blood N iled within h i m. His old animal in- stinct rose in him. He turned upon his foe— his foe because he He turned upon hi foe was his master’s foe— and recognized the man who had taken away his father and mother. But strangely that did not anger him as much as the fact that this l eing had dared to harm his best friend. He saw red. He made a great bound for the throat of the man and reached it. The man desperately drove his long hunting knife into the wolf's l ack but Grit held on. He was living up to his name: Grit. The end came soon. This man who had harmed his friend and who had come to steal his friend’s food and furs would strike no more. Tom saw the whole thing. He was power- (Cont on Page 78) Fond Recollections of a Graduating Senior By William Abramson We entered here some years ago As Frcshics very green. This place was very large and new We just had to l c keen. Some time for work we always found, And Physics we did tame. When we were lA's very proud. The Freshies we did scorn. The school we thought belonged to us Kach day from morn to morn. As 2B’s we did find our faults, And studied in a rage. As Caesar and his Gallic wars Were covered page by page. We took an active part in sports When we were made 2A’s; Each game we learned with zest and zeal. We had our special plays. As jovial jolly juniors gay We loved to fool and joke; Eraser fights we often had, A glass or so we broke. Our jokes and fun were still retained As 3A’s we became. Alas! Now see the seniors go. Their chests thrown out in full. As 4B’s we did think ourselves Privileged with a pull. The lookcd-for time arrived at last When senior A’s were made. Can we forget the times we’ve had And pranks that we have played? O, South Side High, it is the time When we forever part. We leave thee with a smiling cheer. And with an aching heart. The times we’ve had we’ll ne’er forget Thy knowledge we’ll employ. At any time or place at all Thee, we'll praise with joy. Farewell, farewell, farewell to th:c Dear old South Side High. Cherished shall thy mcm'ries be And thou praised to the sky.

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 fogTl THE OPTIMIST Doom By Harold Hantman Dark and dreary is the hour Heaviness prevails The sweat is rolling down my brow And I do bite my nails. Terribly my heart docs pound. And my four limbs do tremble. I cannot see. I cannot think. My wits 1 can’t assemble. Frightfully my eyes do bulge. And I am in a swoon. My head feds faint, my blood is cold As I await my doom. This no doubt to some of you Seems not a state of rest But the trouble is I tell you all. I'm taking a I.atin test. Worse Than That By Thomas Winerman Gee, how can a guy write a story without inspiration?” The speaker was P. Aloysius Van Litt. His homely freckled face was clouded with vexation. Percy was a poor overworked student at the Off Side High School, and had, that day, been ur- gently requested by his Knglish teacher, to write a short story for the Pessimist, the school paper. After school was over, he had hurried home to try to get an idea as to what it would be. To make matters worse it had started to rain, and he had almost ruined his brand new clothes. “I know what! I’ll look in some old maga- zine! Maybe I’ll find some good ideas. They won’t know the difference anyhow. He began to glance thru the pages of an old year book. Perce-e-y! Percy, where are you?” “Right here mom. I aint doin’ nothin'.” You come right down here, and take your wet hat off the coffee grinder, replied his moth- er indignantly, you left your rubbers on the piano and tracked the house all up with those old magazines of yours, and I've just finished my spring cleaning, too. “Aw gee, can’t a fellow rest in peace without dying? “Pcrcival! Such language! If your Knglish teacher heard you now, she’d surely flunk you. cried his mother indignantly. Well I’m not in Knglish class now,” answered Percy grievously. You come right down here this instant, and do what I told you. Percy descended. A half hour later, he was again busied thinking up some ideas. In a few minutes he had concentrated and was heading for a solution of his troubles. Just then the doorbell rang. Again his moth- er's voice called out, Percy, see who is at the door.” Oh shucks,” exclaimed Percy, I wonder who’s visiting us at this hour. Again he descended, skipping four steps at a time—needless to say. this particular stunt had become a science to him (he had used this meth- od, trying to rush down an Up Stairway before some teacher could stop him.) Kxactly one hour later, he was once more seated in his den, puzzling over the problem of writing an acceptable story. With him how- ever. was his cousin and pal, Rcggy Marmclade Ruff. He, like Percy, had the misfortune of having parents who believed in advertising their taste for Knglish things. However the real bur- den fell upon the two boys who were guyed unceasingly by their classmates, because of their names. Rcggy, at least, did not quite live up to his middle name, for far from being sour in disposition, he was quite good-natured and witty. Here's an old magazine, full of western stor- ies. vintage of ’59,” said Percy, without looking up from the magazine. How do they start?” demanded Reggy, who had. in the short time that he had been here, taken up the responsibility of advising Percy as to a beginning for a good story. He for- tunately had not been called upon to write a story, being in a different class. “Most of them start about the same way: 'Bang! And another redskin bit the dust’,’’ Percy stated reading an extract from the magazine. That’s no good.” Rcggy replied, everyone knows that beginning. Why not start in where they are burying him.” 15