Clifton Springs High School - Cliftonian Yearbook (Clifton Springs, NY)

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THE CLIFTONIAN 23 HOMEMAKING CLASSES This year saw the opening of the new Homemaking Department. When we started there were twenty-four in the high school classes; since, the number reduced to twenty. The seventh grade had classes once a week in sewing. The eighth grade had classes once a week in cooking. During the first term there were two sewing classes and one cooking class. The sewing classes worked on materials of cotton and linen. The cooking class covered everything in the high spots of cookery. In January we had those dreaded final examinations, but they passed over quickly. The second term started with two cooking classes and one sewing class. During the second term both classes went on a sleigh ride party. We went to Newark to a movie and had a very good time. On May twenty-fifth the cooking class gave a supper to the Board of Education. We have all enjoyed the good times we have had in these classes, and hope there are more to come. HELEN OSTRANDER THE SENIORS C. W.—Charming, Witty. R. R.—Radiant, Ravishing. E. B.—Enlightening, Blushing. E. H.—Enhancing, Heartbreaker. D. B.—Daring, Balmy. B. S.—Beautiful, Subtle. C. G.—Courageous. Gallant. F. B.—Frivolous, Blithesome. R. G.—Raptuous, Glamorous. L. N.—Loony, Nonchalant. A. L.—Adorable, Lovely. Miss Howard—When was Rome built? Lawrence Wheat—At night. Miss Howard—Who told you that? Lawrence Wheat—You did. You said Rome wasn’t built in a day. Representatives of Great People Cicero—Miss Judd. Catherine the Great—Miss Howard. Einstein—Mr. Spencer. Beethoven—Miss Golden. THE WORLD WAS FLAT The people of the olden tifnes declared the world was flat That if you kept on walking straight you’d learn the truth of that. They could give you many reasons that would make you stop and think; They could tell you how the ocean kept from falling o’er the brink. Even had an explanation to explain the setting sun, They could answer all your inquiries everyone. Now in those olden days they had none of our pleasure cars, They hadn’t anticipated an airplane trip to Mars They didn’t have the wireless and they had no telephones Even the Edison Electric light was to them unknown. Golf had not yet been discovered, so they had no golfing craze. You can name no pleasures that they had in olden days. They do not know what they have missed, in choosing to live then For they declared the world was flat, And say, it must have been. FRAN BURGESS THE SHOWER The flowers are all drooping, The ground is all dry, The sun’s at its Zenith Not a cloud in the sky. The birds are all chirping— Calling for rain— No food without raindrops, And hunger means pain. At last the sun darkens, Rumblings are heard; A gentle breeze rises— Hear the song of that bird! Raindrops then patter And gently come showers: God has heard the prayer of the birds, And has seen the plight of the flowers. R. BUCHAN

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22 THE CLIFTONIAN STARS An uneven road led up the steep mountain, winding its way among the trees, outlining itself against bare cliffs, and at last, curving out of sight, seemingly behind the clouds, on the mountain top. Its path through the shadows was dimly lit by a faint gleam from the stars. Half-way up the road, a small car climbed laboriously toward the summit. Oftentimes, it was outlined clearly against the mountain, oftentimes it was plunged into shadows. The driver, his deep voice full of emotion, spoke, “Don’t you remember this mountain, John? This clump of trees looks familiar to you, doesn’t it?” No answer came from the lips of the motionless figure. “Think, John, think! You left two years ago for France. Your mother, our mother, John, gave up you, her youngest son; how she prayed for your safe return. You are her best beloved. You must remember for her sake!” The vague, expressionless eyes searched the face of the speaker and theu turned and fixed themselves again on the winding road. There was no light of reason behind them; the words of his brother could not pierce through the mists of his brain. The speaker continued, “You were hit on the head by a splinter and when all treatment failed, they sent you home.” The eyes were still fixed on space, seeing nothing, apparently lost in a world of his own in which silken threads held his listless senses in a mesh from which there was no escape “Oh God,” whispered the driver, “help me to bring him back. He doesn’t remember her or love her now. Help me!” Closer and closer they drew to the little white house on the mountain's summit, where a beautiful, old, white-haired lady, with a joyful heart, awaited the return of her baby boy. The driver turned in desperation to the youth beside him, uttering his words with sudden frenzied hope. “Look up, look up, John. There are the stars. The stars, John under which you and I have slept. They were your hope, your refuge, your dreams. We loved them together, John . . . .” Suddenly, the stars grew luminous, glittering, increasing in size until, at last they broke into a thousand dazzling diamonds. Red stars, blue stars, yellow stars, falling stars, shooting stars, fire stars, quivering in the air over them until at last they withdrew and faded back slowly into their places in the sky. John sat up, slowly, in the midst of the wreckage and looked wonderingly around. Remembrance flooded his brain—remembrance of his mother, his brother, and home. At his side lay his brother, crushed under the wheels, with a smile of triumph on his face as though he realized that the answer to his prayer had come in the shower of stars. C. WALTERS, ’31 DRIVEWAYS OF WATER I come down from a mountainous glen Drop by drop, and run to the sea; The ocean contains the stories of men, So what could you want of me? I have a power, that none can fence, And I force myself on my way; I am strong, beautiful, sparkling, immense, And I have a rainbow spray. As I come down to the ocean, dark With ages of time, I have a beauty, distinguishing mark, That wonderful rhythm of mine. W. DeVALL She — That’s a bum-looking watch you've got. What kind is it? He—It’s an “Orphan” watch. She—What kind is that? He—It runs “orf-an-on.” Miss Golden—If the National Gallery were on fire which five pictures would you attempt to rescue? Roderick—The five nearest the door.

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24 THE CLIFTONIAN SANTOS, SOUTH AMERICA My story begins on the S. S. Southern Cross, a steamship of the Munson South American line. It is 4 P. M. on April 18, 1931. We are twenty-one hours out of Rio and will arrive in Santos within two hours. We are now nearing the coast. Everybody is coming out on the decks to get their first glimpse of the biggest and most wonderful coffee port in the world. Now we have our first glance at what we can call land. It is a large mass of rock covered with the dark spongy green moss of the tropic regions. Our next view of land is the mouth of the harbor. We are probably about twenty miles from land and it will be another hour before we reach the harbor. The wind is in the south and it is sending just a small faint ripple across the top of the water. The ripple gushes against the bow of the boat with a soft melancholy sound. The sun is beginning to sink below the horizon. It is the time when these people take out their guitars and begin to get Spanish and romantic. The sun is directly at our backs and it is laying a magnificent crimson red coat shaded with a rich gold across the top of the water. We are beginning to distinguish objects more readily now and I think that I will begin to explain them more thoroughly. The first thing that I noticed was the tall polmaceae, better known to us as palm trees. The palmetto of this tropical region is a diminutive representative of the group. The body consists of a tall, unbranched, columnar trunk bearing at its summit a crown of immense leaves, palmately veined and often split so as to appear compound. The flower clusters arise from the leafy crown and are usually very large and pendent. The palms are not only ornamental but very useful in many ways. The most prized ornamental specie is the royal palm. They range from three to one hundred feet in height and seem to cluster the hills that surround the mouth of the harbor. We are now through the harbor and probably the next thing that would take one’s eye is the coffee groves. Santos is one of the most noted coffee ports of the world. I have told you of the palms and now I will tell you something of the splendor of the coffee plantations. In a wild state the coffee is a slender tree from fifteen to thirty feet in height. But when grown in the plantations, it is not allowed to exceed ten feet in height. The fruit is a dark scarlet when ripe, with two cells, having one seed each. The leaves are evergreen, and the flowers white. Now, is the city for we have taken on our pilot and it will be only a matter of a half hour before we are tied up at our dock. Generally speaking, it is much the same as entering one of our own home ports with the exception of the huge skyscrapers. It is set in a valley between hills of sandy cliffs on one side and those covered with the rich green moss and grass of the tropical regions on the other. The hills are all covered with the beautiful palm trees that are now in full blossom. We are now being tied up to the dock and you can see the stevedores on the dock working with all their might to get the coffee into shape to put on our ship as soon as it is securely tied up. It is 5:30 now and I will take you with me to the Merchant Marine hotel which is over to the pier on the other side of the harbor. The civic center of the city is mucn the same as it is in our own home cities. There is not much to say about the buildings as we see them from the outside because they look much the same as our own. The houses of the city are made mostly of stone. It is the custom of the Spanish and the Portugese to have everything decorated in the bright colors that most attract the human eye. Most of the houses are of the Spanish type with bright colored roofs. The grounds are constituted of beautiful soft green lawns decorated with various beautiful flowers of strange origin. The lawns and houses are shaded by the royal palms that I have mentioned before. Now we will have to leave, for we are coming back to the water front and there is not very