Westwood High School - Chipmunk Yearbook (Westwood, CA)

Page 28 text:

Page Twenty-four The Chipmunk little, the coach had shaken his head grimly and turned away from the track, the last time Vogel ran before the meet. The field events were held in the forenoon and in the afternoon the track events. The score stood 63-65 in favor of Alden Hi. With Vogel winning the mile run. the score would be 68-70 and Alden would win the meet: if he lost. Baird Hi would again win the meet, as she had for the last three years. The bleachers were full, and the sides of the track lined with spectators, as the milers toed the scratch. Lee had drawn the fourth lane, while Michaels, Baird's star runner, drew third. The other two lanes were taken up by the opponent's second-raters. Second-raters, the thought flashed bitterly through his mind. After all, that's all he was, a second-rater. He scarcely heard the starter’s voice as he said. Get on your mark!” Ahead of him, on the home stretch, six white parallel lines stretched out, and standing on the side lines he made out the coach and Captain Peters. Get set!” the starter’s voice seemed miles away—crack!—they were off. scarcely a moment, so it seemed to be. since he was warming up lazily on the track. On the turn, Lee held himself back and took third place in the line, striding out after victory. Michaels was running the second, with a second-rater ahead of him. The positions were unchanged on the quarter and still on the half. As yet, Vogel had stood the pace: on the five-eighths mile his legs commenced to tire. Here the last man pulled up in the lead, trying to entice Lee to follow, but to no avail. He dropped back, finished, his race run. “Number one,” said Lee to himself, and plugged steadily onward. At the three-quarter post, the other second-rater pulled ahead, then dropped back, done for. Number two,” Lee mentally chalked him up. Now Michaels really began to extend himself, and slowly pulled ahead. At the seven-eighths post, Lee thought his legs would crumple under him, but he gasped an extra big breath and swung out after Michaels. Closer and closer he came: closer and closer came the tape. But black dots began to flash back and forth before his eyes, and a thunderous roaring came in his ears. His legs wobbled crazily. What was everybody yelling about, anyway?—he was so tired, but he ran on. “Beat Baird, beat Baird, kept ringing in his ears. Why was the end so far away? He wanted to rest. Now things were going black. His legs moved up and down and out like a piece of machinery. Now he was abreast of Michaels, and twenty-five feet to go. He called up the last of his reserve power in one mighty effort that flung him across the tape, a victor. The coach caught him as he fell, and heard the strange words coming from his lips: Number three, that’s all, number three.” —E. M.. '26. ODE TO A SCHOOL TEACHER Unappreciated tasks! All is given,—little asked. Quiet courage through the years, Stifled sighs and unshed tears. When your hair has turned to grey. There will come a brighter day. You will win a harp of gold. Then your virtues will be told. How you held until the last An unappreciated task. —R. L. R„ '21.

Page 27 text:

The Chipmunk Page Twenly-lhree pie!” She asked Jupiter many times if he would grant her but one wish. At last he heard her and asked her wish. She said, “I have a very small wish: make the chipmunk forget he is big.” When the chipmunk heard this he would have sprung upon her, but he forgot he was large and strong, and thought he was a mere weakling about the size of a mouse. He kept thinking he was small until he actually began to grow smaller and smaller, until he was as he is now, a little bigger than a mouse. —C. C.. ’28. NO. 3. THAT'S ALL Hello! hello! that you Vogel? Coach Akely talking. Come right over to the house, will you?—yeh, a bunch of tough luck—all right, snap it up.” Lee Vogel, a second-rate distance runner of Alden Union High School, hung up the receiver and turned to his father. Coach wants to see me, Dad: be right back. He slipped on a sweater and grabbed his cap and hurried down the steps and out into the street. A quiet, serious-faced group of fellows met his glance around the room as he entered the coach’s house: Peters, captain of the team and star hurdler: Waters, who could heave a javelin like a Greek warrior; and Hadlick, athletic manager. Something in the atmosphere of the room told Vogel that all was not well. Sit down, Lee,” said the coach, as his eye ran over the slight, but trim figure standing before him. I suppose you wonder what we want of you. Vogel?” In answer to the boy’s nod, the coach went on, Bailey broke his leg this morning fooling around that confounded motorcycle. You will have to run against Baird at the meet tomorrow.” Like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, the words struck the boy. He gasped: But coach, Baird's men can run circles around me.” Never mind that, you do your best. Now let’s see. Ingle can take the 880 all right, but that means someone else to take his place in the javelin. Waters, you’ll have to win that. Peters of course will take the hurdles. Baird’s hurdler is down in his studies. The broad jump and high jump rather worry me. but we will have to depend on our men to place. See, old man, you haven’t a snap ahead of you: don't get that idea, but do your best.” After a few more minutes of conjecturing and figuring of chances, the little group disbanded and went home. At the corner where Hadlick and Lee parted, the big Dutchman turned to him and looked down on him from his six-feet of bone and muscle. Boy,” he said, it’s up to you. I wish to Heavens I could run, but foot- ball is the only sport for me. Maybe they'll beat you, boy, but make them run for it. So long.” As Hadlick left him, Vogel turned slowly homeward, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind. Why had they picked him of all men. to run against Baird? For years Baird’s runners had ranked high in the lists, and they had placed him, a second-rate miler, to run against them. Well, thank God, he was in training and fit to run. and he would fight them to the last bitter stride. Saturday, the day of the meet, dawned warm and clear. The last few days Vogel had devoted to intensive training, and although his speed increased a

Page 29 text:

The Chipmunk Page Twenty-five A CLASSY MYTH Marguerite was troubled. She was young, fairly beautiful, and meek, but in all her twenty years no knight bad won her colors in tournament. She was down-hearted and discouraged, thinking that she was doomed to be an old maid. But there was one chance. Merlin, the seer, prophet and magician, could surely do something to make her charming and attractive. So to Merlin she went and meekly told her story. Merlin, the wise father of his people, had a plan immediately. He told Marguerite to close her eyes and when she again opened them she beheld a wondrous strange vision. Before her stood a boyish looking figure dressed in a long, tightly-wrapped dress. The face had strange red spots in the cheeks, the lips were painted in a crimson cupid’s bow and a cigarette was held alternately between the lips, then between two fingers, the eyebrows were shaved to a very slender line and all this was topped by a mop of short hair which was cut in the back so there was scarcely any at all. The curious figure took out a small round, gold box and added a little red there and here and then some white and then turned and gazed at Merlin and Marguerite. Marguerite had been gazing with amazement and now said, “What is it?” “A twentieth century flapper,” answered Merlin, with a twinkle in his eyes. “She is going to show you how to manage men.” There followed days of instruction and work and after a while Marguerite appeared exactly like the flapper. Merlin then sent the flapper back to her own century and Marguerite set forth to conquer worlds unknown. There was to be a large ball which everyone for miles around was going to attend. Marguerite decided to start her work here. She dressed for the ball with great care and when she entered the ball room she was sure that she would create an impression. As people saw her they stood petrified and then a great gasp ran around the room. What was this strange creature? Surely it must be some creature of Merlin’s. But she seemed life-like and real. The ball started. The stately dances were executed gracefully and the immense skirts of the women swayed and swung with the motion of the dance. In great contrast was Marguerite with her long straight lines. The men had rallied and she had partners a-plenty. At first they had looked upon her in something of scorn mixed with admiration but had soon come to be all admira- tion. Then came the hour when Marguerite intended to have her final triumph. As a rather lively dance started, instead of joining the others as usual, the heroine of the evening put one of her lovely bare arms around the shoulder of her partner, put her other hand in his. Then started the most amazing dance ever seen, a fox trot. The men liked the short hair, the rouged cheeks, the cigarettes, the unusual clothing, but they were afraid of this creature who did not hesitate to put her arms around a man while she danced. The day after the ball found Marguerite again in the home of Merlin. Again she told him her tale of woe. “I was a huge success at first,” she sobbed. “But no one is wearing my colors in tournament and I'm a failure.” Merlin thought for a while, then said, “My dear, these men are not far advanced, but I am a man of all the ages and I understand you, and I have loved you. If you will be mistress of my borne, I will be very happy.” And Marguerite was happy and satisfied and felt that her work had not been for naught. M. W., ’28.