James Madison University - Bluestone Schoolmaam Yearbook (Harrisonburg, VA)

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Character Portrayals HE is always immaculate. As he enters the room a faint odor of ivory soap accompanies him — he does not smell at all like a little hoy. Twice during an hour he takes out a comb and carefully smooths h!s hair. Other boys despise him and call him sissy. I ' m not so sure that I like him myself. She reminds me of sunlight on a rough sea, with her golden hair, her blue eyes, and her never-ceasing movement. At first 1 was afraid of him until 1 learned that his sophisticated ways are only a camouflage and that underneath this shell he is as timid as I. Whenever he asked me a question, his eyes seemed to challenge, Now I ' ve got you. I wonder if he ever knew how my heart sank when he raised his hand. He sat there in his desk gazing through the window and not listening at all to the discussion. He was watching a buzzard soar through the air and dreaming of the day when he would become an aviator and soar just as easily. I couldn ' t blame him. I, too, like to look out of the window and dream of the time when I shall be a real teacher instead of merely an apprentice. She sits on the very front row, looking up into my face as if absorbing everv word. She nods her head approvingly or disapprovingly, as the case mav he. She seems all interest, and yet when I call on her she starts guiltily, blushes, and stammers, I didn ' t get the question. — Babs Stratton When he sauntered into the room that first claw I saw nothing hut a wide expanse of expressionless face. When he shuffled past me, I had vis mis of lumbering beasts of the jungle. As I looked at him sink into his desk, it seemed incredible that a human being could appear so utterly blank. I will not embarrass him by ask ng him a question during the period. Hut at the begin- ning of the class, he raised his hand and said, Did you read the account of the proceedings of the World Court in the morning paper? A timid boy was John. He always seemed embarrassed when I called upon him in class. Such a quiet taciturn youth, I noticed that he never played with the rest of the boys during recess, but, rather, staved in the classroom, reading a book. If 1 addressed him out of class, he reddened profusely and walked away. He was unusually polite for a boy of his age, and always spoke in a calm, low-pitched voice, until one day I caught him reading a novel in class, and told him he must stay in after school as a penalty. I ' ll he d — d if I ' ll stay in after school just for that, he blurted. —Prudence Spoon er [218]

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Triolet I set my cap for him, I did, Because I liked his looks and ways ; When first I saw that brown-eyed kid. I set my cap for him, I did. I guess I should have run and hid ; He left my mind in such a haze. I set my cap for him, I did. Because I liked his looks and ways. — Ruth Behrens FIVE-YEAR old Jimmie came home crying. Aluvver, he wailed, Brownie bited me! Why, Sonny, where? gasped his frightened parent. On my knee. Still sobbing, he held up the injured member. The skin was unbroken, but a little red spot showed that the dog had snapped at it. But, Jimmy darling, Brownie has never snapped at anyone before. What did you do to him? He ' s a good dog. Nuffin ' . He jist bited me. Think, dear. Didn ' t you hurt him in any way? Nome, the child insisted. I was jist playin ' , an ' he come up and bited me. No more information was to be gained by Jimmie ' s worried mother until that night. The child knelt and said his prayers as usual, but added this petition : And God, please don ' t let Brownie bite me again when I pull his tail. — Winifred Warren Sponges I SAT in my lecture class, drowsy and inert as the smooth continuous flow of the professor ' s words fell uninterruptedly on the ears, interested and uninterested, of his students. These students took down his words obediently in a notebook partitioned off for this and other courses, writing automatically and thoughtlessly the words of the learned teacher. Some day, I knew, we would memorize them and give them back to the teacher, only very slightly tarnished, at a time when he would require them. Once in a while 1 looked out of the window at the mountains in the distance and dreamed beautiful day- dreams that gladden the heart of man}- a youth — and never materialize. But all the time mv pen formed on paper the written symbols that represented the words of the lecturer. I was relaxed and comfortable in my assurance that no unseemly outburst of discussion, or heated exchange of opinion would shock my dormant intellect into action ; and so I dreamed on — and lazily reproduced on paper the thought issuing from the teacher ' s brain. —V. K. S. [217]

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Nobody Knows the Trouble Fve Seen I USED to be interested in interior decorating. As a matter of fact, at times I had contemplated it more or less seriously as a profession. Since I have been at H. T. C. however, I have materially changed my views. Interior decorating may be all right when one stands in the middle of the floor and directs, but when one is the tallest roommate, as I am, it degenerates into something more or less resembling a three-ring circus with me as the clown. In the first place, I have an artistic roommate. She decides on the most effec- tive way of arranging our assorted pictures, pennants, and what-not, and then leaves for the evening. Most of her ideas involve moving the double-decker across the room, placing the dresser where the single bed was. and swapping that with the table. Finally the furniture is placed — perhaps not satisfactorily, but at any rate where it is going to stay as far as I am concerned. The next step is the search for the step-ladder. It eludes our noblest efforts. Finally we locate it at the far end of the hall upstairs. We room downstairs at the other end. We decide we don ' t need it immediately, and come back to the room. Besides, it is promised for the next two days at least. I conclude that I shall have to climb up on the double-decker to hang the pen- nants. The bed has an unfortunate tendency to waver with that peculiar motion felt on a storm-tossed boat. And the pennant that is to be hung in the middle of the wall can be put there only by precarious balancing over the end of the double- decker. As I advance cautiously in that direction, the wavering motion increases noticeably. The quavering motion inside me also becomes more pronounced. 1 reach over to place the pennant. The question now arises: if I hold the pennant with one hand and the hammer with the other, with what am I to hold on? The question remains unsolved. I don ' t hold on. Just as I successfully place the first tack and remove my hand, the tack falls out. I groan. But at last the pennant is placed. Then the remainder of our va- ried collection is put up by steps involving standing on the bureau, standing on a chair which stands on the table, and other feats of acrobatic balancing. But now comes my Waterloo. The curtains are yet to be hung. I put them on the rod. ascend to a chair on top of the table, and begin feeling for the curtain hook. The radiator interferes notably with my efforts. To add to my annoyance, the chair begins to execute a war-dance. My thoughtful roommate proceeds to hold it for me. Meanwhile the curtain has caught under the chair. I am forced to descend, loosen it. and mount once more my bucking steed. This time, success crowns my efforts. Then I view the results. The rod sags noticeably in the middle — so noticeably that I fear its two pieces will part company in the extremely near future. I decide to put a nail there to support it. With my roommate holding the chair, I lean f orward. I hit the nail twice. It doesn ' t stick. I hit it three more times. It still won ' t grip. I strike it a fierce blow. It drops to the floor. Having rescued the nail, once more 1 turn my attention to the driving of it. After ten blows calculated to fell as many oxen, it takes hold. I drive it in viciously, and lower the curtain rod gently to it. The nail has gone in too far to support it! On the fifth trial, the nail and the rod connect satisfactorily. I descend from my perch, only half the girl I was when I climbed up there. Just then my artistic roommate walks in. Good gracious! she says, you ' ve put up last year ' s cus- tains. The) ' aren ' t even the right color! Yes, thank you. I am recovering nicely. — Sarah Lemmon [21!)]