St Anthony High School - Tattler Yearbook (St Anthony, ID)

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JUNIORS You can talk about the classes That are going - thru the schools. Hut I’m right here to tell you That Juniors are no fools. Just cast a glance at all the things Worth mention, that they’ve done; I tell you when it comes to sport They sure can make the fun. I ' or instance take their party They gave one Friday night. And think about the colors : Say, they certainly were a sight. And so it is with everything That they may set to do. Their friends are many you can bet. Their enemies are few. In everv sport that we have had The Juniors did their part. And so it is with everything, Thev alwavs make the start. Just look up the debaters, The Juniors number four; And so far as that’s concerned. Tliev could have made it more. I cite that as an instance To show they have the brains, They’re never staying out of school because of aches and pains. Now look back at the football team. The Juniors numbered seven. And if they’d put it to a test They could have made it ’leven. 1 hope the Juniors never fight About their old class rings, Or even ’bout the cap and gown And other foolish things. So I’m right here to sav to vou. The Junior is the rattler; Just think, the Juniors have the mail Who’s editor of The Tattler. — K. t t SAND” You can scan this world over For men who people need ; For men who are not coggers, I ' or men who’re known for deed. W e need the men who’re honest, W ho come at the command. Men who are trustworthy, W ho possess the amount of sand. Men are sometimes slipping back, They cannot get a grip, And consequently from this They all are bound to slip. We all know of the engine When on the track it fails ; because in pulling harder Fhe wheels slip on the rails. In this case, now, what do thev? W hy, the fireman takes his stand And in a chest he brings forth A small amount of sand. Carefullv he sprinkles on the rails Phis sand for the wheels to grip. And when the pressure is applied The wheels they will not slip. Such is life’s long journey, Rut when we make a stand, be sure that we will not slip. That we possess the sand. — K. ■ . Sevcnl ■

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side one score ahead. Things looked rather dismal for St. Anthony. “I guess you are glad you wasn’t called on your bet, aren’t you?” said Earl Rum- sey to Frank Chase. ‘‘Oh, don’t worry, we have a chance yet if Elmer can only get a hit,” answered Frank. Elmer did get a hit and he didn’t stop running until he reached second base. The people yelled and roared and went al- most frantic, and then they did go wild when they cast their glances to the home bench and beheld Ray Adams with a bat in his hand walking to the batter’s posi- tion. “Now keep your head, Ray, and knock that ball into the gravel pit,” said Mr. Garber. “I will if I can,” be answered. The opposing moundsman looked at Ray for a minute and then he cast a glance at Elmer on second. Then he faced the batter, took a long, steady windup and sped the ball square over the groove. “Strike one !” yelled the umpire, but Ray did not move. Again he sent an- other strike over the rubber and Ray passed it by. The people in the grandstand and on the sidelines were going mad. They all pled for Adams to connect with the ball and win the game. Even Mr. Garber began to show signs of nerv- ousness. He could not understand why Ray had passed up the first two strikes. “The championship depends upon you, Adams, so hit that ball and win your own game,” yelled Mr. Garber. Adams was a man who had had wide experience in baseball and this was one of the many heady tricks which he had used before to break up ball games. Having let the first two balls go by as strikes, the opposing slabster thought he cou ld strike Ray out very easily, so he gracefully delivered the third strike over the rubber. It was coming fast, but straight and without curve. Adams wait- ed for it and at last he swung with all his energy and met the sphere square on the “nose.” In an instant he was bound- ing for first base. “Go second !” everyone cried. And he did go to second, and to third — and — Bean had scored, but for him to get over the rubber would mean a fast race, for the ball was already on its homeward flight. Knowing that Bean had tied the score, he decided to take a chance, so he started for home plate. Then nothing could be seen but a cloud of dust. He had “bit the dust” with the intention of sliding in under the catcher. Finally the dust cleared away, but the umpire had rendered no decision. It seemed as though he was undecided as to whether Adams was out or not. But “Buddy” Brown said in a solemn voice: “He scored, umpire; the ball beat him here, but he made a ‘hook slide’ and scored without a doubt.” With these words the umpire took “Buddy’s” hand and said : “Buddy,” the game depended on your honesty, and even though your side lost the game, you told the truth and I am proud of you.” “Business is business,” said Buddy, and he walked off the held with his team- mates, while Ray was being carried off on the shoulders of his friends. —Earl Enos, T9. l aii’e Sixleen

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“THE CRACK OF THE BAT” I admit I am fond of the singing of birds hen the sun rises over the hills ; And I own that I find a most wonderful charm In their delicate warbles and thrills. And at night as I sit when the fire’s aglow And lean back in my soft easy chair. Then let the pet records of music and song Drive away my vexations and care. There are sounds of the day that warm a man’s soul Which add to the fun and all that, But there was never a sound that stirs the red blood Like the sound of the crack of the bat. When you go to a game and all settled down And the bleachers around you are filled, When the “umps” has announced who the batteries are, While the great crowd around you is stilled ; When the batter steps up to the bright shining plate With his cap on the back of his head. And the pitcher turns loose with his sal- ary arm — And three strikes the umpir e has said, There are sounds from the crowd that give zest to the game And add to the fun and all that ; But there’s never a sound more pleasant to hear Than the sound of the crack of the bat. The thrills and fun derived from the sport Is why most of us go to the game ; ’Tis no matter at all if it’s not a safe hit, The joy we get is the same. When the pitcher again makes his great wind-up, And the ball strikes the mitt with a thump. Then your heart beats the faster with every cpiick play, With the coaching and shouts at the umps. There are thousands of things that add to the game, Which makes it “some” game and all that, But you jump to your feet with throat- cracking yells At the sound of the crack of the bat. When the batter he meets the ball square on the nose, Then the cup of your joy is brimful, While the ball, sailing free through the midsummer’s air. Speeds away toward the big wooden bull. If it proves a safe hit, so much for that. The thrills that you get are sure great. We like pitching and fielding, but hopes for a hit Is why most of us pay at the gate. Oh! Gabriel’s trumpet if properly blown May wake up the dead and all that, But there’s nothing I know makes a live one sit up Like the sound of the crack of the bat. — K. Page Eighteen