SUNY Plattsburgh - Cardinal Yearbook (Plattsburgh, NY)

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Seniors slaml together, All through Normal ' s years; friend and pals forever. Sharing all our joys and all our tears; Though our path ' s a hard one, We will conquer yet; Though lie hat e our trouhles here, Plattshurgh Normal, never fear: We will win, you bet! Through our years at Normal Silver and the blue. They and our own motto. They will both be there to see us through. And at Plattshurgh Normal May there ever shine Scholarship and sportsmanship, Taking them on every trip. Class of thirty-nine. Thirty-four

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President ADRIAN WOOD Vice-President JAMES HUTCHINSON Treasurer CHARLES TURCOTTE Secretary I.ORA PRATT Faculty Adviser MARGARET SIBLEY Class Colors — BLUE AND SILVER Class Flower — AMERICAN BEAUTY ROSE Class Motto — GIVE TO THE WORLD THE BEST YOU HAVE AND THE BEST WILL COME BACK TO YOU

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tat tens on a The sun has sunk behind the tree tops and the first sweet coolness of twilight has taken its place. The white birches at the end of our street are fast becoming enveloped in the mist. White birch trees have always held a singular attraction for me. Some- thing about their slender, young daintiness reminds me of a mother who looks at her first-born child — tender yet joyous, reverent yet half-fearful. A white birch against the rose of a morning sky or outlined by the deeper, fuller tints of the evening sky is a picture one can never forget. It is difficult not to believe that fairies played around its whiteness just before we awakened, and perhaps danced merrily to the tune its leaves made as the wind played upon them; and then, just as the first faint light of dawn appeared, they solemnly and sweetly made a covenant with their queen, not to appear until she flashed her signal, the evening star, to them. A white birth in the moonlight brings back all the old days of romance and chivalry when knighthood was in flower. I am sure that the young birch mourned over the lovers who said good-bye ' ncath its silvery shelter and that the old birch nodded with complacency when the knight came back to claim his lady. A clump of white birches high on a hill seems unattainable — like the whiteness and purity of vision which many of us strive for so long and patiently — and often vainly. The birds seem to sing more softly and there is a hushed expectancy about their voices as, at this time in the evening, they gather closer to the birch; the tree seems to gain more confidence, and as the night mist enfolds it, seems to stand straightcr and even more gracefully than before. I like to think of a young birch as a dryad who was so pure and good and loved her tree companions so well that the King of the forest told her she might become one of them, and by her whiteness and gracefulness be known all through the woodlands as a symbol of purity and truth. It is getting dark now. The white birches are barely discernible from the distance. If I were to walk closer, they would become whiter and clearer even as truth and purity become whiter and clearer as we stumble through the darkness toward them. Maizie Gray. TbMy-fiM