Virgil Junior High School - Forum Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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f VIRGIL By CHARLINE CLAYTON, B9 English The following is the report of an interview with Virgil for a short notice of his doings to be published in the Athen's Advocate: Reporter: You are .Publius Virgilius Marc? Virgil: I am. Reporter: Er-when and where were you born, Mr. Marc? Virgil: October 15, 70 CB. CJ, on a farm near Mantua. We had the nicest big, white hens, and one day Minerva, the biggest. . . Reporter: just a minute, Mr. Maro, will you please stick to answering my questions? , Virgil: Certainly, sir, certainly, but Minerva was such a nice hen. P Reporter: To continue, Mr. Maro, what is your occupation? Virgil: I really don't know. Some people call me a poet. Reporter: 'Wlfhich of your famous epics do you consider the best, Mr. Maw? Virgil: VVhy, I don't know, Mr. Reporter. I like Tityrus better than any other, but I doubt if I could tell you which one is considered the best. Reporter: VVhich is your latest, Mr. lNIaroP Virgil: The Aeneid isn't finished yet. I came here to Athens in order to finish it. Reporter: 'WVould you feel free to tell me the subject of it? Virgil: I won't now, but when it's printed, I'1l send you one of the first copiesf, Reporter: That will be fine, Nr. IX-Iaro. I'm very much obliged for this information, and I assure you, it will be published at the earliest possible moment. Good morning. I25l 1 I,

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V Q' '11 -if FAREWELL, VIRGIL! By Davin STURGEON, June, 1931 Wlhen Virgil sang in rhythmic tones To little groups in long past ages, He little dreamed that this old world XVou1d honor him among the sages. I-Ie'd heard of Ilium or Troy And other famed towns, so they say, But never dreamed in wildest thought Of cities such as our L. A. He never dreamed of schools like ours, VVith Hfteen hundred folk or more, Or that his name would be engraved Where all would see it on the door. Oh, Virgil, may we grace thy name And teachers, too, whose work is done! Farewell! God bless you! Many thanks From A9 Class of '3l.

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gf ,bi-A Z THE HUNT By ELIZABETH MCCOY, January, 1931 VVhen I grow great and tall, like my father, said the small slip of a boy to the bees, 'QI shall write a book and tell the whole world what true friends thou art. Did the bees suddenly stop their droning, or was it only imag- ination that made it seem they stopped to listen to their early morning visitant? 'fBetter friends thou are to me than my own father,'l he con- tinued bitterly. 'Childl' Child indeed! Can I not lift the great brass hearth kettle under the weight of which even Pallo stumbles? I will go hunting, and he shall see if I do not bring home enough meat for many meals. The boy, Virgil, was slender and considerably below average height. His age at this time might have been guessed as anywhere between eight and thirteen, according to the play of emotions on his face. Short cropped, curly, golden hair framed a face with wide, blue eyes, a rather insignificant nose, and a mouth peculiarly lacking in expression except when he smiled. He plainly was not smiling now. The thrust of his chin was the only thing to warn the casual observer of the great determination of this rather diminu- tive specimen of boyhood. Having made his manly address to the bees, he set off to-the farmhouse at a ludicrously rapid stride. The bees resumed their work, and peace prevailed once more. About an hour later he passed the spot of his former declara- tions, his head held high. By his side, not showing very plainly against the white of his tunic, was a small, light-colored, leather pouch. Perhaps the unlikelihood of its being seen was the only thing which had prompted young Virgil to further show his manli- ness by borrowing, quite without permission, his father's prize stone pouch. l26l