Kingswood School Cranbrook - Woodwinds Yearbook (Bloomfield Hills, MI)

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TIIE C R E Publius Versum Day dawned bright, which was fortunate, because if it had rained, a national crisis would have oc- curred. All the arrangements had been made for the national holiday: every home was required to have a television set, all schools, stores and factories had been closed, and the po- lice force had been doubled to make sure that everyone was in his own home at the appointed hour. This last was really not necessary, for not a person would dream of missing the event of the decade, the reading of his new poem bv the poet-especiallv-laurcate. Publius Versum. He had been work- ing on this poem for ten years, polishing and perfecting it to a masterpiece, and at last he was to present it to the whole country. Precisely at ten o’clock, the Armv, followed by the Nation- al Guard, the Coast Guard, the Publius Versum Guard, and the Publius Vcrsum’s Notelxrok Guard marched impressively up the avenue to the palace, given him by the President, where the great man lived. As they stood outside waiting for Publius to come forth, the five thousand piece band struck up a light fanfare. In a difficult passage, a flute committed the unforgiveable sin of quavering on a note within earshot of the Most-Honored, and was promptly sentenced to five years in jail. When Versum finally appeared, everyone had to look twice to make sure that it was really he; for all tin- men of the country had grown red moustaches and black evebrows, like Publius’, and all the women of the country had blond shoulder length hair, also like Publius'. But when his up| ointed escort had made sure it was Publius, he was taken to the new broadcasting studio which had just been built to accommodate the five new networks created in his honor. So tin1 big moment had arrived. Throughout the land, every man, woman and child sat tensely by a television set. awaiting the first exciting glimpse ol The Idol. And after the brief half-hour of introduction. Publius' beloved face appeared on the screen. As lie made his opening remarks, he flipped his head a little impatiently. A new gesture to imi- tate! Excitedly, the unseen audience flipped 'their heads in like manner. “Friends. Every mouth was open in anticipation. My new masterpiece, created over a period of ten years, has tor its theme the beautiful subject of ‘wintertime.' Every word has been thought out to the utmost. It is perfect. And now. my poem.' Publius struck a graceful | o.se in front of the cameras, and with a touchingly beautiful and soulful look in his eves, a true sign of an artist he delivered his work in dramatic, ringing tones. The snow, the snow. Oh ho. oh no. . . . Carol i'anlkncr lit the him! of tlolhn hills

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Tin: ROOM It was a room Never to be remembered In the sun. When it would send a stream of priceless gold Battering like sea spray on the walls. 11 was a room Never to be forgotten In the rain and wind And torment of a many-day price; Wallpaper, brittle, vellow. Rent and clawed by impatient yellow fingernails. Fingernails of Time. Walls, shadowed bv a memory and the flicker of another Light . . . Bevcrhf, Watkins 1 met Ellen last summer when she was “four’na' half years old. More pan-like than Pan. more elusive than a fox, and more beguiling than Circe was this small though singular personage. Under her short thatch of sunnv golden hair was a mis- chievous. alert little mind. The realms of Ellen's imagination were boundless and because of this, she was easily enter- tained. We spent many long hours conversing with the lady- bugs or having tea with Davy Jones, aged fifteen, a charming acquaintance who dwelt in the bottom of the pool. Daw was one foot tall and possessed a beard which reached his knees. Another favorite pastime was fishing. Wo performed this sport sitting on a rail fence and catching leaves from an adjacent bush. The leaves of course were the fish which miraculously had their names inscribed ii| on them. Her curiosity was insatiable and many ol tin- questions she asked arc those that adults would like to know the answers to also. A characteristic of the four-year-old is to ask questions about God. but Ellen turned the tables and told me about Card instead. II and she were good friends. A WATERFALL Cnarlcd fingers «f ice Clutch the rocks Which once formed the background For a waterfall. But now Nature prevents Its usual gushing of water. How like a human’s hand. Desperately grasping. Clinging to the last remnants Of former power. Its progress stymied By a Higher Something. . . . Patsy Hoey EN and it seems that Cod is having troubles with His wife. I was also informed that He is quite bald. By far the most outstanding characteristic of mv petite friend was her pair of startlingly large brown eves, which were the very expression of her puckish self. Thev laughed, they llirted, the)' questioned, thev examined, thev accused, and thev plotted. When these orbs were closet! in slumber, she was robbed of all her satanic qualities, and she could almost be termed angelic. Unfortunately she slumbered but little, for she possessed an inexhaustible supplv of energy. F.verv fiber of her sun- hrou cd being was alive anti alert. Being extremelx well co-ordinated and fleet of foot, she led me on many a wild- goose chase. It delighted her to have me puffing and panting in the rear while she. like a capricious sunbeam, flitted ahead just out of my reach. I pray that as long as she lives F.llen will keep her sense ol Inn and laughter, her energy and wonderful imagination so that she will always be what she is now. a bright spot in the lives and hearts of all who know her. . . . nnc Coulter

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s i: n i o r i, i m ; n c k s We had the front seats in assembly. Which we hoped underclassmen would envy. Our vision was fine. And ditto the spine; We sighed and said, Isn’t this heav'nly-” There once was a mad man called Amos. Whose philosophy much did inflame us. Said Miss Simmons. You’ll boil If on this you don't toil! So we all got it in. You can’t blame us. We all cringe when they mention “exam,” And resignedly mutter, “Oh, 1---. Nerves are quite tense. Oh. where is my sense? There’s but one thing to do and that’s cram! We seniors had waited for vears. And not without many real fears, For that glorious day— For our studies the pay— When we got our rings—amid tears. From Brookside, to Kings wood, to college— What more could you ask to get knowledge? Fond memories we’ll keep As through life we do leap And love of all three we’ll acknowledge. There’s a place where seniors all go, Whether spirits are high or low; Cigarettes and cokes And always good jokes— —The cabin—we all love it so. There was a young singer named Lin, Whose soprano was thin as a pin. In assembly one day, The whole structure gave way; What she did to poor Grieg was a sin. To graduate, to graduate, to graduate? Oh. graduate, oh, graduate, oh. graduate. You graduate. I graduate. I graduate. You graduate. We graduate, we graduate, we graduate! MYRTLE GERTRUDE CIA 17. Mert- Cert Pimples Phlegmatic, ugly, dishonest, blah The most unpopular girl in our class No friends, no interests, no hope (.'racked voice and vile sense of humor Oh! Those spring vacations at Alcatraz! (Com mtcd after writing eulogies of fifty-six charming seniors)