Turlock High School - Alert Yearbook (Turlock, CA)

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the one who fools us all. She, at first, seems the jolliestof teachers and in a few days you come to your senses in a hurry to find that she can be as exacting a taskmistress as any machine teacher that ever lived. Occasionally you catch glimpses of her soul and get half way into her heart only to find that you are shut out agai11. Indeed, you could compare her to a cloudy sky through which you see the moon at irregular intervals. Now, that you have seen the different types of teachers, pause a moment and reflect upon it. If you were a teacher would you finally become what the school boy terms in slang, a hard-boiled piece of machinery, or would you remain in just your own jolly lovable, good- natured self? How about it? RUBY WILBUR, '23. TTGDSIIGFS G G EY there! Has the bus left yet for the other side? Naw, I guess it's late this morning. This is one of the hails to be heard about the old site most every school day in the week. Great commotion is evident among students and teachers who are waiting for a ride to the new,' site in time for the bell at 8:50. Who is that familiar figure who is frantically gazing at her watch and hollering, Time, time, time for the bus. I declare if it isn't Miss Grant, one of our regular transfers. Standing on the corner are two more regular customers, who upon closer observation are seen to be anchored near truck loads of magazines and music rolls. These marks' of identification point them out, as you have probably guessed, as the debater's aid, Miss Mark, and our music teacher, Mrs. Roach. At last the bus draws up with a wheeze, a rattle and a bang from the vicinity of the unincorporated villages of Mountain View and Hatch. Teachers and students make a frantic rush to gain sitting and hanging room on space At 8:495 the bus is whisked away at breakneck? speed and is on the way to the new site located on the Antipodes of Turlock. On the way we encounter Mr. Kyle and others who live near the new site on their weary way to the old site. But here I must call a halt in our journey. You have probably divined the reason, but if you haven't, it is my duty to inform you that the morning freight is switching thus affording an efficient 14

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change from mood to mood very much as the grains of sand move back and forth in a vigorous wind. You have all met from time to time that lofty individual, the 1I13,Chi118.,, She goes about the world with a chronic disease which I will label a grouch, but others might call it only a soured disposi- tion. Her mind never goes any farther than the narrow walls of her school room. I think I could make a safe bet by saying that books and papers to correct are the only things that ever enter their narrow craniums at night when they slip away to the land of dreams. If a dream about a play or novel ever dared to enter her orderly and neat carded index fbrainsj, she would promptly doom it to an early death. You and I know that little Johnny Smith has a soul under his little freckled face and upturned nose, but Miss Machine most emphatic- ally does not. So she goes at her job of pounding knowledge into l1is little red haired majestyis head very much as if he were a gate post or other article that is useless but too good to throw away. Onward through life she goes, thinking that she is doing her duty toward mankind. Then there is the teacher with a blessed, soul-uplifting, human, good nature. This old world of ours is trying enough at times. What would we do without the good, happy-natured people to point out to us the silver linings of clouds? Even the greeting of a human being type of a teacher is different from the machine. The other day when you met Miss Machine on the street, did you feel all cold and chilly around your heart when she said, How-do-you-do, J ohnny, in that flat, colorless tone of an automatom? I'm sure you did, for that is the way I felt. Of course, when you met your teacher by the name of Miss Good-Nature, you were happier all the day for her simple smiling greeting, Hello, Johnny, what a dear little dog you have, or, Hello Mary, it's a beautiful morning, isnit it? Her greetings really give the impression that she is interested in her pupils and their interests. Children are like flowers, under good care they flourish and grow like magic but as the result of poor care there is only a sickly, drooping plant. Of course, Johnny's dog is only a mangy, flea-bitten pup such as people seem to delight in tin-canning and kicking, but in .Iohnny's eyes he is a wonderful creature and he is pleased to know that his teacher takes an interest in his affairs. To her the pupils in her class rooms are all possessors of souls, very different from each other to be sure, but nevertheless, they all have souls ready for the key of the teacher's heart. One touch of humor makes every one kin, and in the class room many times the teacher who possesses unfailing good humor spurs the flagging energy of her pupils and gives them new life. And last of all comes the teacher of the changeable soul. She is 13

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barrier to our progress. Mind you we had scarcely a minute to spare in the first place. At last we are across the tracks or dead man's alley, and are on our way again. This strange sighttpassing down the street causes strangers to stop and wonder at the new kind of street car, although it attracts not a passing glance from the natives. At last by means of ai telescope we are able to discern that part of the school known as the new site. We arrive at 8:52 or thereafter and everybody scrambles into the office to obtain an admittance slip from our first vice-principal and dean of the Junior College. Such trips as the one I have just described occur hourly through- out the day, thus becoming what is known as a cyclical process. Such is the system of transfer between the old and the new sites which I firmly believe will be remedied before our great, great, greats enter this school. JAMES BROWN, '21, The Family Album N THE parlor table, i11 the center of the room, the family album occupies a prominent place. It is of read plush, with shiny brass clasps and the word Album printed across the cover. Between it and the table there is a knitted tidy. Around the album are grouped sea shells and other souvenirs, brought from foreign shores by the roaming members of the family. A The first picture is one of-but let us listen to Aunt Sarah as she portrays the family to a visitor: This first picture is one of Samantha Robinson. She was my great-aunt. There always was a cookie jar in her pantry and pepper- mints in her pocket. And this is Uncle Silas, Aunt Samantl1a's husband. He had the best blacksmith shop in the town in those days. Here is mother's cousin Prudenceg she married a missionary and went to China. Oh, that bald-headed man? He is Cousin Abner. He invented a rubless shoe polish, but it didn't sell very well. My Aunt Eliza often said that Great-Aunt Belinda worked herself to death. She worked from daylight to dark and then she never was through. Yes, that is Aunt Belinda. This baby is Uncle Ezra. Every one says he was such a sweet baby, but he became a terrible man. His children all left home as soon as they were of age. This group is Uncle Ezra's family. That is he with the whiskers. ' 15 -