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Page 18 text:
THE 1951 Sxnvan SANDS
OES MY NOSE detect the
delicate aroma of smoldering
embers? Shall I fill my water pistol
or call the fire department? N ol It's
only Shadrack on one of his escapades
again. What a toasterl
I guess I should be more tolerant
though, after all, Shadrack really
dates back. Some stories have it that
he was brought back from the Cru-
sades by Richard the Lion-hearted-
and that's quite a bit of lyin'.
I can see him standing there. Plug
in socket, he looks like a miniature
Frankenstein laboratory. Nothing
like his modest successors, he displays
most of his instruments of torture
visibly. His pet coil is one that burns
a bu1l's eye right through the middle
of the bread, after which he employs
a decisive thig-a-ma-jig which liter-
a.lly tars and feathers the upper crust.
When he has finished damaging be-
By Suzanne Mayor, '52
yond repair, he just sizzles back, lets
off some steam, and gloats while
everybody begins choking.
From the time I was able to shove
a piece of bread into his fiery, yviry
claws, my encounters with Shadrack
have been my daily early morning
challenge. Nothing is more disgusting
than to watch him annihilate Bond's
best into a black "board" not even
good for charcoal. Such a toasterl
Yes, my friends, sigh your sigh of
satisfaction when you see your toast
popped onto a plate: sink your teeth
into golden bronze. But you are de-
nied opportunity for the conquest of
mind over matter. You will never be
able to lavish pent-up emotions on
your breakfast table mechanism. Give
me my Shadrack any day--something
with enough tire to irritate me and
enough natural stupidity to make me
feel like master. That's a toasterl
I like wind on winter nights, and
The sound of rain on a summer even-
I like songs of birds flying high-
1 like living.
MARY CONDON, '51
Page 17 text:
knew it couldn't possibly be a Rem-
brandt! But will wonders never
cease! Dad actually beamed at
Johnny, then turned to us and said,
"You two run along now and have
a good time."
When we got outside, Johnny
smiled his sweet, toothless grin and
THE 1951 SILVER SANDS
said, "What a character l" Then I
smiled back and replied, "Yes, what
a character l" But what johnny didn't
know was that Dad liked him a lot,
a whole lot. How could he help liking
someone who mistook one of his very
own paintings for a Rembrandt!
'A' i' 'k
OTHER AT ONE time resided in Atlantic City which is suitably called
"The Playground of the World." Some of us go there to take advantage
of the health-giving air, but most visitors usually promenade the boardwalk
as part of a most enjoyable routine. One afternoon as
Mother was doing just that, she noticed, as she approached
New Jersey Avenue, that o crowd had gathered. As she
went nearer, she could discern a handsomely dressed
couple, each with a large Boxer dog on a leash.
A photographer was trying to take a snapshot of them,
probably for the rotogravure section of some magasine. He had difficulty in
getting a picture because of the pulling and straining of the dogs on their
leashes. The owner of the dogs, turning to a gentleman in the front of the
crowd, asked, "S ir, would you mind meowing like a cat!" The gentleman gave
a distainful look and walked away. In another attempt he turned to Mother
asking, "Miss, would you be obliging enough to meow like a catf' Mother
was curious and obliging. Instantly the two Boxers became very alert and
still, looking over in the direction from which the sound was coming. Thus
the photographer secured a perfect picture.
After the crowd had dispersed, Mother discovered that the owner of the
beautiful dogs was none other than Francis X. Bushman, former matinee idol
of the silent screen.
Lonnnlun BELIN, '51
Page 19 text:
I Storm A
Y ENTHUSIASM dwindled
slowly as I pushed open the
ultra-fashionable door of the ultra-
fashionable Fifth Avenue Shoppe. I
paused, hovering close to the door,
and then, my jaw set in a line of de-
termination, I marched staunchly into
the store's interior. Before I had
completed even a lap of my courage-
ous journey, I halted in my tracks,
tripped over the edge of a deep luxuri-
ous rug and only by dint of acrobatic
feat managed to land on my feet.
Conscious of the icy stare of the clerk,
I resolved to act maturely about this
project. No one need know this was
the first time I had gone shopping
without Mother's assistance. And
surely it wasn't necessary to explain
I had never been in a Fifth Avenue
shoppe. Most of my past shopping
sprees had taken place in the adoles-
cent Teen Shop or an unglamorous
bargain basement. But I saw no rea-
son to advertise this plebeian state of
affairs by childish conduct.
So, looking as demure as I dared,
I tried desperately to close the gap in
my mouth as I passed through the
Finally, a sigh of relief escaping
me, I breezed up to the counter for
which I had been searching--Maderm
THE 1951 Sn.vEn SANDS
C TA DEL
By Rita Rieciuil, '52
oisel1e's Perfume Bar. Clearing my
throat, I boldly asked the clerk if she
would help me. Much to my chagrin,
her eyebrows rose to the nth degree
as she appraised me with an air of
amused disbelief. What did the "little
lady" want? Something sweet per-
haps? "No, indeed!" I retorted icily.
"Something terribly, terribly devast-
ating." The eyebrows ascended in in-
credulity for the second time.
Then I was put through successive
wafts of "Midsummer's Love" and
"Moon Ecstasy" in their most pung-
ent forms. Gasping, I decided on one
brand, "Garden of Enchantment,"
which could be endured without suc-
cumbing if I took three quick breaths
and then held my breath to the count
of ten. But I was nevertheless thrilled
at my audacity and ventured to ask
the price of this delightful fragrance.
It was now time for my brows to rise.
I knew this was a shop which carried
the best in vogue, but . . .
The saleswoman smiled a patroniz-
ingly sympathetic smile as I turned
away. I was mortitied as I trudged
over that dreadful rug and pulled
back the more dreadful door of the
most dreadful ultra-fashionable Fifth
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