Shortridge High School - Annual Yearbook (Indianapolis, IN)

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A SERMON IN GREEN touch, fold up and wilt. And if you like little things, you are sure to be captivated by the dishes of soft baby's tears you will find, almost hid- den by the tradescantia, which scrambles all over the bench, wherever it can get its roots into the warm sand. If you have any appreciation at all for lovely things, then you can't help enjoying-our greenhouse and each of its plants-from the tiniest green seed-leaves to the big coarse rubber plant with its great flat leaves. If you have a class in this room, you are indeed fortunate, for, no matter what the weather outside may be, it's always summer in 218, and forty minutes spent there provides a pleasant and restful break in the even tenor of an ordinary school day. PUSSESSIONS I have always thought of possessions as cherished blessings, which in- clude material as well as spiritual things. The most cherished of my possessions are gifts which cannot be taken from meg such as, a sense of humor, a love of music, the delight of drawing, and the enjoyment of spring and fall. I cannot explain why these things appeal to me so strongly, perhaps it is my innate desire for the beautiful things in life, and yet it may be environment. Nevertheless, they are my blessings, and money cannot buy them. It would take pages to list all of my treasures, things which would mean very little to an outsider, yet they mean a great deal to me. Many of these possessions can be found in my room 5 namely, a picture of my mother when she was sixteen, done in pastels, and several pieces of delicate china, hand-painted by my grandmother. Then there are my two adorable white statues of Venus and Diana, some lovely jewelry which was my grandmothers, my beautifully illustrated English maga- zines, and my own efforts to be an artist. Of course, each of the above could be enlarged upon, but I think I should continue. There are my feather-bed, with its downy pillows, the soft pink lights, and the sway- ing pink curtains. My room on the third floor faces west, and drinks in all the exuberant beauty of the sunsets and catches the sun's exquisite color in the shadowy corners at evening. Fascinating little breezes skip and dance merrily from one object to the next, ruflling the covers of the bed, pushing the curtains back, and whispering gently in my ears till soothing sleep overpowers me. Of all my priceless possessions, the most loved ones are my family and home. Sympathy, understanding, gayety, sorrow, arguments, and connected and disconnected repartee are all melted into one un- fathomable family, not perfect by any means, but, oh, so delightful. Is it any wonder that I care so little about going where the atmosphere bends to sororities, clothes, or rating ? Sometimes I feel that I have too many possessions for my own good, nevertheless, I should not care to give up any of them, and, Heaven knows, I am most thankful for them all. -Barbara Hagen SW3.ll'l

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A SERMON IN GREEN BETTY DAVENPORT OVELY, dark blue leaf shadows, tracing a delicate ever-changing pattern on the blackboard and walls, bowls of gaily-tinted flowers, and green ferns in shaggy brown bark boxes on a shelf run- ning along two sides of the long room-that's 218, our botany room. Looking across the room and , through the glass, for one whole side of the room , is made up entirely of windows, you can catch an alluring glimpse of green plants. You walk down the wide aisles between brown and green movable desks, up three steps, and through the high French doors which open into the green- house. Once there, it is hard to decide where next to go, for all along the bench, which extends the entire length of the greenhouse, is an attractive array of leafy plants, each of which arouses your interest. Everywhere you look, you see them: cheerful little yellow ilowers, begonias shading from rose to pale pink, sturdy geraniums, their brilliant red blossoms openly courting your attention, and the more delicate rose-geraniurn, with its dainty fern-like leaves. Half-way down the bench is a glass box, full of interesting little mosses, liverworts, and lichensg and above it, a hanging basket, trailing its long strands of ivy across a cyclamen plant, whose blossom, an ex- quisite deep rose one, is just unfolding. A square at one end is given over to a group of cacti-the untouchables of plant life. Woe be to any inquisitive linger that goes poking around their sharp thorns and bristles. There's another look but not touch plant on that bench, too, for there are two or three pots of sensitive plants which, at your slightest M H 0 il j:, .ig9fgTl'lf.l , -- ' i' ra-V ' A' ' 'fl EX gf rl 'Q0J.'f-F24 ' il I I .1-0' 'F :lv Wi. '?--2-.'.:f.-13-4 . Q ....,, l R , ' if .511 ,j Ui if' 1Qf:?.Qi-.EQsj, ' 1, , It L' ff? 'Gy h 2 if- fl 152 Wim 2541562-2 'f7f? ' g WS All 1 -4 f iiH5 nU ,- If 9 ixwlhhi' 'W lk -1 live :fig 'eff f 0' S 4 T 'QW . --fe .0 f f ' fn -dlp lm' gif?-.-if-'.+ .,i 'f f b ,, ith, .hairy w ,bm w I J X A A. ,L,,.,.,ji'i ws .5Q1.'..':-j:, : ul-. fu-1.-A 1, - M' ' A lv - - -, fu V. 'L -2' 1-- V i Ni v W , VN' .- 1 'ge K M Ea:-.is.'.:js.1. 1 T Tr ac e- .. . H , lt' xii! W 5f?ii' :4ff.Tl. 1 , gam er ' 0' Q E ns l. 1 ,fe f xl ' 1 ' 1. . Y V, T iff -1 , ' f' gl-N ' -,K A ,M ,jllzgl 34... 2 f' - I ,Q - ','-5 . 52514 -e ' X. . ' Yu! Q mi:-szfi-3 . 'biqqzvw V Mn-U If g J Wi Txg ' ' 5 m n ' I . W FIM We . N ', t':f 11 2 .ate-. -as 'Stihl W L iz, 1 ,H 1 ,W l ,.f.::u,, ,lu-fi 'I i .7 A- I .. ,, - -3 l' j Syn fig. ! N 'MQ 'ilfllti x R ll I ..5f:SQ, vm ,iv ',5.1-tp, 2 w Off . 361' iL.:.25'i ,Lge- 0 '-y fix' 1 P 449- .vg.f - -Ja - e, L as Us Zim 1 xvvnArr1nLn'a.- I,

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BORDERLAND SKETCHES LEON FRISCH MY NATIVE TOWN HOUSANDS of miles from the shores of America, in south-eastern Europe, where Poland, Russia, and Roumania meet, is located a little village, named Zaleszczyki, This peaceful-looking town is enclosed on all sides by mountains, and on three sides by the beautiful meandering Dniester River. Zaleszczyki is inhabited by a very peace- loving people, most of whom have never traveled farther than fifty or sixty miles from the town. It was in this village that I was born and spent the first twelve years of my life. Although I have lived in America almost five years, I can still picture the town and remember the many incidents that took place there. THE MARKET PLACE . In the heart of Zaleszczyki is the market place. In the center of the market place are two rows of stands, and at each side a large open square, where the horses, cattle, and sheep, which are to be sold, are herded. At the stands are sold bread, meat, fish, and all other kinds of food. What a place it is! One can hear a dozen languages spoken on the streets. Here one sees Ukrainian peasants selling merchandise, Ger- mans, Russians, Poles, and a few Roumanians. The peasants are clothed in white trousers and heavy white shirts, hanging to their knees. Mingling with the crowd are dogs and other domestic animals. Many children are playing about the streets, and usually two or three in- sane or intoxicated persons are seen Wandering about. Quite often a horse runs wild, and then the whole market place is in turmoil until the animal is captured. With the singing of the blind women, the yelling of the bakers, and now and then, the howling of a dog which has been caught by the dog-catcher, it would indeed seem a strange place to an American. THE RUSSIAN WAY Although it had only been two or three weeks since Vladimir, a former resident of Zaleszczyki, Poland, had returned to his home town from a visit in America, everyone was talking about his exhibitions in boxing. The people of this town had never seen anyone fight in the American style, so when Vladimir, a tall, skinny man, returned and showed some of the strong boys how to box, he soon frightened them. As some of his friends worked in our bakery, he often used to be there. One day while Vladimir was showing some of the men how to box, one of them asked him, in a joke, to show Ivan, our stoker. Vladi- mir took it seriously, and started to show the husky Ukrainian peas- ant how to box. First, the American hit the Ukrainian with a left to the stomach, then with a right to the jaw, and said, Te po Americanskuf' CThat is the American style.D This angered Ivan. With a full swing, he hit the American on the side of his head, dropping him to the ground with terrific force, and