Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

Page 30 text:

MOON-FLOWE5 Oh wondrous flower of purity, With thy cup so fair and white, A sweet companion of the stars, A guardian of the night. Thy tender leaves do clamber O'er the pillar and the wallg And clad them in rich verdure Till the coming of the fall. Thou art just above the reach Of a mortal's eager hand: Thou doth tilt thy fragile blossom Up toward the heavens grand. Alluring is the name for thee, Tantalizing to us all, As on thy frail stem swaying, Thou doth smile down from the wall. The mystery and the beauty, That night doth ever hold, Are distilled in sweet aroma Within thy heart of gold. Ethereal and enticing, thou With thy tender fragile grace, Nestling in thy fragrant bower A gem in a web of lace. MARY MARGARET' TUTEWILER

Page 29 text:

F R E C K L E S W H l , .7261- and dipping her soft hands into it, spread the moisture over my face. She then bade me look at my reflection in the silvery lake-and, behold, there were no freckles! For days afterwards, my life was brightened by the remembrance of that dream. We can not, however, exist on dreams, neither can we be happy with visions alone, and the radiance of what might have been, gradually faded, and I was denied even that consolation. At home, where we are well known, there is no object in trying to cover up the disfiguring spots, but when preparing for a journey among strangers, we labor diligentlyi to obscure them behind a thick screen of cosmetics. But the mirror tells no untruths. There, dimly seen, but un- deniably visible are the freckles. On our faces, white and staring, except for brilliant spots of rouge, can still be detected the hated spots. A wave of sickening despair envelopes us, and with slow, infinitely weary and painstaking care, we wash it all away. On one such occasion, my mother, perceiving my complete desolation, laid a comforting hand on my head and said, Don't worry about your freckles--donft make ylour life miserable on account of them, because, after all, you know, they are only 'sun-kisses'. Sun-kisses -I had never thought of it before, but I think I shall follow her advice. If we could all view the abominable disfiguration in this light, there might be something of beauty about them. You see, I am again riding on the crest of hope, I wonder how soon I shall be swamped by the undertow. 1

Page 31 text:

ROY ROGERS Velly hot day, said my companion. Velly, velly hot day he em- phasized. It was a very hot day, and I had been spending the major por- tion of it in combing this God forsaken sea-port of Saigon for an opium pipe. Not that I wanted to smoke one-far from that. I had observed enough of the stuff to know that once opium had one in its grip, it was fatal. My guest had led me over the town, through all the large and the small shops that gave the least air of encouragement. Finally, in sheer despera- tion, I stopped in front of an old Chinese tailor who was sitting perched comfortably on his bench. I inquired of him if he knew the whereabouts of an accessible opium pipe. He thought a while and then said he did. Whereupon he jumped nimbly off his perch and bade me follow him. He led the way through a labyrinth of tiny, ribbon-like streets and stopped at last in front of a gate that was unmistakably Chinese in archi- tecture. He pulled the bell rope and in a short time a little sliding door in the gate opened, and an old idol-faced gateman thrust his head through the opening. He inquired in Chinese the purpose of the visit. This boy would like a pipe, said my guide. Evidently this satisfied the gateman, for in a moment the big gate swung back, and we were bowed into the presence of a man who was evidently the proprietor of the place. Here again I was asked to state my business. Oh, you wantee smoke hap, he said. So that was what my guide had thought I meant by a pipe! I hastened to correct the manager's erroneous impression and told him that what I wanted to do was not to smoke a pipe, but to buy one. He grunted an understanding and parted to find the pipe. While I was waiting, I examined more closely my surroundings. It was a small room with low, thick-plastered Walls. and a thick-plastered ceiling. High upon one side were two windows that were covered with carved, open-work wood. Heavy paper was pasted over this structure to prevent any stray breeze from coming in, for the Chinese have an aversion to fresh air. The room was lighted by three dim Chinese lanterns, that were sus-