Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

Page 30 text:

“TARGE T” STAFF. Upper Row. left to right — Elliott Cook, Isidoro Cereghino, Donald Morris, Mr. Biedenbach, Anthony Folger, Raymond Muenter, Norman Heinz, Randolph Nickerson. Lower Row, left to right — Dorothy Critzer, Katherine Stone, Catherine Dela- mere, Genevieve Ocheltree, Laurinne Mattern, Miss Christy, May Dor- nin, Helen Marr, Corinne Painter, Margaret Geary. Laurinne Mattern Editor-in-Chief Isidoro Cereghino, Anthony Folger, Randolph Nickerson Managers Mr. Biedenbach and Miss Christy Advisory Board Mr. Biedenbach, the students wish in the “Target to express their ap- preciation for all that you have done for McKinley School. When you first came here, eleven years ago, you were principal of what was known as the Dwight Way School, one insignificant in every way. You allowed the people of that school to express themselves two or three times a term as they would, in a school paper, called the “Target.” This brought out the liter- ary instincts of the pupils and gave them much pleasure. Then, not con- sidering that enough for the student body, you had a self-government plan started which united all the interests of the pupils in the eight grades. This made us known throughout the coun- try, and people came to see the work- ing of this miniature city. The plan of government proved successful and, when the ninth grades were added, it was found to be still more beneficial, owing to your interest and splendid management. You promoted the unity and good spirit of the student body by the large assembly meetings which are such a source of pleasure and in- spiration, and we heartily thank you for them. But words can ill express all you have done for us. Our School, now called the McKin- ley Lower High School, is one of which we and our city may be justly proud, due to our principal ' s enthu- siastic and able leadership. Mr. Bied- enback, our friend, owing to your un- tiring and efficient efforts, memories of “McKinley” will long be cherished.

Page 29 text:

THE TA R G E T 25 A BROOK. Below me lay a wandering stream, Winding its way along, Hemmed on both sides by green-robed hills, As it dreamily sang its song. Along over pebbles and rocks it flowed, Gently inviting us bide To freely partake fo its nectar sweet From the shimmering, limpid tide. And, as I gazed from my mossj r bank Into the clear, cool brook, Reflected I saw a gay bob-o-link, Just as a drink he took. KATHLEEN AGNEW. THE SACRIFICE. Joe Farley was walking toward the aviation grounds wondering whether he would get a Lozier” or a Nation- al” with the prize he was going to win that afternoon. His step was light and eager, for he was confident of gaining the Millville race and five thou- sand dollars, the victor’s reward. He certainly had the swiftest machine on the grounds and everyone knew he was an experienced aviator. At the field he stopped for min- ute at Fred Burnham ' s “hangar.” Burnham was the son of a blacksmith who had become interested in “bird tactics” and read all he could on the subject. He had made a frame, they earned and borrowed enough m oney with which to buy a motor. Farley, however, had been backed by a mil- lionaire father, who had supplied him with the necessary funds. As he left the “hangar” he heard Burnham say, “If I don ' t win that race I’m ruined.” Well, I guess he ' s ruined,” silently commented Farley as he strode away. The race was scheduled for 2 oclock and went off on time. Farley, though not exerting his motor to its fullest capacity, soon got the lead and far outdistanced all the “birdmen” ex- cept Burnham, who nad kept near him and was now less than a hundred yards behind. So they raced on, and ere long sighted the goal. Both were urging their machines to the highest limit and Farley was gradually draw- ing away from his opponent. “I guess it will be a ‘Lozier, thought Farley. But Burnham’s re- mark of the morning came to him. “Look what he has to lose compared with me ! ” As the thought flashed through his mind, with a quick impulse he shut off his engine and started to glide to the field. But his generosity was fatal to him. A puff of wind tipped his planes and he fell to the earth. So, while Burn- ham crossed the goal to the cheers of the crowd, who were unconscious of the tragedy then being performed, Joe Farley, crushed and bleeding under the wreck of his aeroplane, breathed his last — a martyr to an ill-timed sac- rifice. GREGORY HARRIER. The “Target” wishes, in behalf of the school, to comment upon the good work done by the musical orgaiza- tions. Much credit is due Miss Eller- horst, their leader, for her untiring ef- forts, in and out of school hours, which have resulted so successfully. It is with pleasure that we anticipate the concert to be giver by our school musicians and we knov it will be a success. Miss Fisher — “Who painted the An- gelus?” Arthur Wilde, misunderstanding — “The man with the hoe.”

Page 31 text:

THE TARGET 27 THE LARK. Hark! Hark! the lark is singing this morn, O list to his cheerful song, It sounds like a flute in the morning breeze, As the melody floats along. He rises from the meadow green. And warbling as he soars. He wakes a voice within, to thank Our God for blessings poured. Long may those noble notes be heard, For sorrow, grief and pain. Will vanish then, when the lark pours forth His notes like summer rain. HELEN SAYLOR. THE NIGHT OPERATOR ' S STORY. As the night operator drew near the circle around the stove in the waiting room, he was received with chorus of “Give us a story, Fred.” “All right, I will tell you of an ex- perience I had on the old ‘B. and S.’ ” “I had been on the railroad only a short time and was still pretty green. As it had been snowing heavily, mak- ing little traffic, I was much surprised to receive, at nine o’clock one cold, bleak night, an order to hold a freight train at my station to allow a fast train to pass. It was no fan turning- out in the cold, and I was in a hurry to get back to my warm room. In my hurry I grabbed a white lantern in- stead of a red one. A few minutes later, the freight rumbled through the station, the engi- neer seeing the white light. I was stunned, but I knew I must stop the train, and ran after it. I managed to grab the hand rail of the caboose, but the train gave a sudden jerk, and I was dragged several hundred yards before I could pull myself up on the plaform. I put up my hand to jerk the air-cord, when I remembered there was no such thing on freight trains. 1 must walk over the cars, as there was no one in the caboose. The tops of the cars were very slippery and it was with the greatest difficulty that I kept my footing. At one time I lost it but I managed somehow to keep on. But the worst was to come. I had to jump from a box to a flat car. As I jumped, the train hit a curve and I landed on my back. I was senseless for five or ten minutes. A little later, I reached the engine and told the engineer my story. He stopped the train and none too soon for the “flyer” appeared a little while afterwards. We had to back to my station as there was no switch and the passenger train was already five hours late.” RICHARD HISCOX. A VISIT TO THE NEVADA STATE PRISON. While in Nevada, I visited the State Prison which is in Carson. I think it is one of the best managed prisons that I know of. There was hardly a man in the cells of the prison. Most Oi them were out working either on farms, or repairing roads. When you passed them on the road you would never dream that they were convicts. They wore no stripes and they did not have a guard. They had a fore- man, but he too was a convict. Once a tragic but humorous thing occurred. A horse and buggy with two men in it, fell over a precipice near the place where the convicts were working. Dropping their picks and shovels, the men rushed to their aid, and succeed- ed in dragging the horse and buggy back to the road. When all was in or- der again, the men, not knowing that they had been helped by convicts, of-