Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

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THE TARGET 13 BASEBALL TEAM Upper Row, left to right — Mr. Biedenbach, Donald Crystal, Harold McGowan, John Muldoon, George Davis, George Ward, Walter Paroni, Lew Marcellis Lower Row, left to right — Mr. Smith, George McCord, Rodger Peters, Monte Hodgman, Wallace Schort, Norman Heinz. BASEBALL. The team, o n account of the splen- did support given by the boys, girls and teachers of McKinley School, has had one of the best years in our base- ball history. Out of 14 games play- ed ten have been won, one tied, and three lost. McKinley has defeated Franklin, Whittier, and Washington Schools, all of Berkeley. In G. Ward and L. Marsellis, we have two good pitchers, both having three-hit games to their credit. The team tenders its thanks to the boys, girls and teachers for the sup- port they have given us. MONTE HODGMAN (Captain). OUR SPIRIT. We ' ll shout for “Mckinley,” we’ll stand by her, too, To the dear school, you know, we’ll ever be true. We honor her colors, they ' re always ahead, There’s none that can beat them — the black and the red. Her teams are victorious wherever they play; Her loyal school spirit grows stronger each day; Her name stands for honor, her ban- ner for worth ; Hurrah for “McKinley,” the best school on earth! CHARLES HONEYWELL.

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12 THE TARGET TO A BUTTERCUP. Buttercup, buttercup, smiling to greet These soft, gentle breezes, whene’er you them meet. You bow, and you wave, and toss with delight, When along comes the breeze, and takes you to flight. You make us all happy, and cheer us when sad, And when children find you, they do seem so glad, That you ought to remember the good you can do, And bloom afresh next year with blos- soms anew. LADEANE SHATTUCK. SANDY. Sandy was a sandpiper. He was a very small bird and had a long black bill and tiny web feet as all sandpipers have. He lived on the beach with a flock of other sandpipers, flying close to the waves near the shore and hav- ing a very good time. But one day a dog running into the water frightened the flock and they, flying very near the shore were shot at by the boy who owned the dog. About twenty fell and Sandy was one of them. Some of the birds that fell were carried out by the waves, but Sandy who was only shot in one wing walked along the beach. And I walking by, saw him and finding his wing hurt, took him home. He ran about the floor catching a fly whenever he saw one and after a while became so tame that he would come to me whenever I called him. On cold nights when the fire-place was lighted Sandy would run in and stand by on the hearth on one leg, with his head under his wing. Other days in the summer Sandy was let out to run about the lawn. He would never run away and always came when you called him. But Sandy did not live long, for he missed the ocean and other birds of his own kind. He died one night, about two months after I found him and I buried my little friend under a poplar tree on the lawn. BEATRICE MILLER. A SPANISH LOVE STORY. Florita and Beebo were going to elope, so one morning before sunup. Beebo rode up to Florita’s house and called for her. She came up, mounted behind him, and they were off. But Florita’s father was on the track and he was much opposed to their mar- riage. They were in despair as they heard the pounding footsteps of his horse. But Beebo suddenly thought of a bright idea, — he would dismount, hide Florita and the horse, disguise himself as a caballero and waylay the old gentleman. This he did most succes- fully. After tying Florita’s father to a near-by tree, Beebo mounted and rode back to Florita. With the two horses they then galloped quickly to a neigh- boring Father and were married. On their return Beebo hid the stolen horse and mounted in front of Florita. When they arrived at the scene of the bloodless tragedy, they both dismount- ed. Beebo played the part of the gal- lant rescuer and set the old man free, after which he gave them both his blessing. THOMAS RICKARD. The boys always start their folly Of kicking Linden Naylor’s collie. If they don’t stop, by gollie, They’ll get a bite from Linden’s collie. Irma Bennett — “The consul killed himself and took his army.”

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14 THE TARGE T THE SONG OF THE CHIMES. The old church chimes are ringing, dear, The chimes we love so well; We listen to the ringing bells. For the tale they seem to tell. It is a story often heard — The bix-th of a little child. The mother fondly o’er her bends. Kissing her cheeks the while. The second scene is the brightest one. The babe is a woman now. The wedding bells peal loud and clear, As she makes her solemn vow The final scene, it is most sad. Which the funeral bell does ring; But up above, in heaven high, We hear the angels sing. MARRION HERRMANN. A NARROW ESCAPE. “Forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty- three.” Ned had been fishing all day and now with rod over his shoulder and cap on the back of head, was re- turning home by the railroad track. He had been trying to see how r many rails he could walk without falling off. The forty-third rail ended where the track switched, branching off in two directions, making a sharp curve to the left. At the end of that fatal rail, just at the switch he slipped and fell. When he tried to rise he found one foot tightly wedged between the two rails. Pull and tug as he would he could not move his foot. The three o ' clock “flyer” flashed through his mind and as if to make the thought a fact, a faint whistle sounded far down the canyon. Ned sent one shriek after another for help, but the only answer was his own voice flung mockingly from one cliff to another; and a now louder whistle of the train pulling into West- hams. The brook hummed peacefully as it glided down the ravine and the birds flew happily from tree to tree. With an effort Ned aroused himself from a paralysis of fear as he heard the warn- ing “Toot! Toot!” of the onrush! ug train and the sonorous rumble as it crashed over the trestle two miles away. If only he were on a straight track or the bushes were not tall! An idea popped into his head at sight of his fishing rod. Tearing the red bandana from his neck, he tied it tight to the rod and waved it frantically. The noise of the train deafened the boy and as it crept around the curve and stopped four yards in front of him, he fell in a heap on the track. HELEN VAN MATER. “NEVER AGAIN.” “I can ' t do this Latin anyway,” dis- mally remarked John, “I guess I’ll go to bed, its almost one A. X.” He was soon in bed and sleeping soundly, even if it was with a troubled conscience. Suddenly he sat straight up in bed, “What ' s that?” he exclaimed. He heard a dismal clanking coming upstairs. Then through the door marched Caesar and Cicero, arm in arm! There he is!” exclaimed Caesar. Bind him!” The frightened boy was dragged out of bed, shivering in the cold, and was bound by one of the guards. “Bring him along!” He was dragged after the guard, down the stairs and out into the night. All was changed. The streets had no lights. There were no telephone wires. “This must be Rome!”